The Next Battle
by PaintingMusic14
Summary: Five months after their wedding, Emma is awoken in the middle of the night by her hand shaking. Those were supposed to be over, but then other things begin to happen in her life, and she wonders if her story isn't over after all.
1. A Vial Past

**_Author's Note:_** ** _As this is a season seven re-write, I_** ** _write this to ask you all a question as readers: what would you like to see in season seven? Which characters would you like to see more of, who would you like introduced, which storylines should be picked back and re-addressed? I have a direction in which I would like this story to go, but as this is a creative re-write for OUAT fans, your input is extremely essential! So if you leave a review, be sure to let me know what sort of things you would like to see (or not). What kind of scenes (e.g. any specific Swan/Hook scenes, new characters, etc.) or stuff of that sort_**.

 ** _I hope you all enjoy!_**

 ** _Disclaimer: I clearly do not own any part of this franchise, it belongs to the lovely writers._**

* * *

Chapter One: _A Vial Past_

 ** _The Enchanted Forest_**

 ** _In the time of King Leopold's reign..._**

All was silent. The flicker from the line of torches cast eerie shadows on the stone walls that danced and played with one another like silent children. The metal bars gleamed in the firelight, catching the light with specks of grime and rust, and nothing moved. It was a picturesque dungeon, as everything else was in the castle, only far more silent and peaceful.

Then the hands grasped the bars tightly, white-rimmed knuckles caked with days old blood, brown and peeling. A face followed, a pale pointed chin hidden below thick brows and ringlets of dirty blonde hair that normally appeared golden, but was now dirty and matted. Teeth gleamed in the ochre light, but it wasn't a smile, no. A grinding of teeth and an expression of dark hatred twisted the lips upwards.

"Let me out, you bastards!" came the voice, raspy but with a laced tone of sweet syrup, as if she beckoned all who listened with a promise of honey, but delivered a draught of bitter medicine instead. "I swear I will find a way to get out if you don't release me, and when I do, you'll wish you had let me out in the first place."

The threat was met with a stony silence; even the echoes from her voice faded soon after she ceased to talk. She kicked the bars with a growl, then marched back to her cot, sheets twisted and balled together without thought or care. The girl dropped onto the poor excuse for a bed, then slid her hand underneath her pillow, taking care to glance about her for guards before she did so.

Assured of her discretion, the slender hand emerged in a fist, hand tightly grasping what she found to be so precious. Her hair fell forward across her shoulders as she leaned forward, and her wool cloak was brought forth around her as she bent over the object, eyes riveted on her prize.

Gleaming from the concave of her palms lay a glass bottle, corked tightly, but nearly overflowing with a dark green liquid. "You're all I need, my lovely," she whispered into her arms, a grin alighting her shadowed features. "Nothing else."

A bang at the bars jerked her head up, and she shoved the object into the folds of her dress, eyes already snapping with a cold, blue fire. "Ah, a visitor. I'd invite you in, but I'm afraid the accommodations are rather lacking," she spat sweetly, all the while managing to slip the vial underneath her mattress without attention.

The man at the bars wrapped his fingers around them, and gritted out a rather rehearsed reply. "Where is it, you thief?"

Standing up and swaying rather slowly over to the bars, she licked her lips and left them open in a perfect 'O'. "Thief? Whatever have I stolen from you?"

"Don't play games, I want it back." His eyes narrowed, and he passed a hand over his greying beard. "In exchange for your freedom."

She raised her eyebrows and leaned forward teasingly. "I don't have it, your majesty. And frankly, I'm rather appalled at the condition you offer your guests when invited. Don't you know there are royalty visiting, King Leopold?"

He reeled back when she came forward, but maintained his solid expression nonetheless. "You are not royalty."

The blonde girl smirked, and lifted her chin, brown eyes widening in mock hurt. "But, I could be."

"If you weren't a thief."

A crass chuckle erupted from her lips and she threw her head back wildly. "Ah, I have known many more nobles to be the stealing sort, not the commoners. Now," her face darkened and she leaned forward once more, inward heat still a bonfire. "I demand to be released. I did not steal whatever it is you are accusing me of taking."

King Leopold took another step backwards and nodded to the guards flanking his side. "Then you continue to lie to me. I hate to leave you here, but it seems you must become fond of your prison a little longer."

"No!" she shouted, shaking the bars vigorously. "Let me out!"

The king turned away from the girl and began walking down the passageway, boots falling heavily upon the dirt floor. "I cannot do that, dear girl."

The blonde haired woman sucked in her cheeks than spat onto the floor after him. "I have a name," she seethed.

"A lady who steals is all the same, Goldilocks," he stated flatly, the last words merely an echo carried from the walls to her prison.

She stepped back from the bars and looked towards the hidden bottle underneath her hay filled mattress. "Oh, I think you'll find we're never the same," Goldilocks murmured.

And all was silent once more.

* * *

 ** _Storybrooke_**

 ** _Five months after the last battle..._**

She wasn't sure what woke her, but when her eyes slid open, the first thing she noticed was her hand. "No."

"Bloody hell." Fingers clutched hers automatically, rough and large. "I thought those were supposed to be over."

She stared down at the offending hand, shaking uncontrollably as she struggled to fight a sense of rising panic. "Me, too."

A light turned on, ridding the room of a scene filled with dark moonlight and shadowed whispers. Now her hand trembled noticeably, the soft light from a lamp coloring it yellow and sickly looking.

Emma clutched her wrist tight as if to stop the movements. Tighter.

"Love." Killian took her hand again, gently, but still holding it between the surface of his palm and the bed-cover. The whir of an ancient air conditioner hummed and crackled in the corner, the only sound amidst the rustling of sheets and his murmured concerns. "Don't panic."

"I'm not panicking," she refuted sharply, holding her breath as she anxiously awaited the arrival of a blurry vision to come along with the shaking. But none came.

Killian reluctantly removed his fingers, but only to pick up the alarm clock and blink at it blearily. "Bloody hell, it's only two o'clock." He returned his grasp, tentatively massaging her wrist as if afraid to increase the tremors by even holding it. "I hate to ask—"

"There aren't any visions," she confirmed, brow wrinkling in confusion.

He noticed her hesitation. "That's good, isn't it?"

Emma clenched her fingers into a fist. "Yes," she whispered, sleepy eyes still worried and shocked.

"But? What is it, love?"

She slowly peeled her gaze from the tremoring hand. "What's going on?"

"Aye, that's the question." His tone was meant to be light—hearted, but the words were laced with a heavy dose of concern. She inhaled sharply and was about to reply, when a dark wave assuaged her gaze.

"No." They both sat up straighter as Emma jerked up, eyes flashing fire and hand rocketing from his grip.

"Emma?"

Her eyes swung shut, and she fought for control as dark figures shuffled into her vision; the vague outline of craggly mountains taking shape behind them. The wind howled as rain began to pour, and the sound of a sword being pulled from its sheath filled her ears with a painful shriek. One of the figures, auburn hair tumbling over his forehead in tight curls, swung the weapon at her chest and she jerked backwards just in time. The other, hair inky black and smile blindingly white, took a jab at the man by her side. She couldn't tell who the man was, only that he couldn't dodge what she had; he collapsed to the muddy earth, hand clenched over the wound in his chest. Crimson blood trickled down his pale fingers.

As she stared, her own hands shook so forcefully that she dropped the bow she didn't know she had been holding and felt her bones shake. Emma heard a crack, then felt her limbs crumble into dust, joining the earth below in colors of grey and brown.

But her hands had stopped trembling.

"Emma!"

Green eyes flew open, and she automatically swung her legs over the side of the bed, stalking to the bathroom door. The floor swayed underneath her like she was on the Jolly Roger, but she managed the trek anyway. Killian bolted after her, muttering curses and 'bloody hells' under his breath as he flipped the bed-covers aside and stumbled down the hallway.

Emma switched on the light, knees suddenly weak as she slumped onto the rim of the tub, blonde waves swinging down across her shoulders. Her hands had stopped trembling—just like the vision—but the rest of her shook, and she inwardly scolded herself for doing so.

Killian appeared in the doorway, brown hair tousled and unkempt and eyes wild with an emotion she couldn't quite place. Concern? Fear? No, it was something more than that.

"Emma," he faltered, then regained his role as comforter and knelt before her on the icy tiles. "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine." Her voice echoed and bounced off the walls in her head, but they sounded firm enough, so she gave it no further thought.

Killian stole a glance at her hands to ensure their stillness, then returned his attention to her face. "Are you sure? Did you—" a muscle in his jaw clenched. "Have a vision?"

Emma brought herself from the shaky fortress of her mind enough to nod her head, then retreat behind the crumbling walls. Unperturbed by her retreat, Killian grasped her hands tightly, sure he could draw forth her admittance. "Do you want to talk about it, love?"

"No." Her voice was too small, she decided. Emma lifted her head: no more running and retreating, that was the deal. "Not...yet."

"Alright, then." He drew her to him, and kissed the top of her head. "It could be nothing," he added into her hair.

She swallowed. "Of course."

Killian drew back, hand still firmly encircled about her arm, and an accusatory glint in his eyes. "You don't believe that."

"I do."

They exchanged looks; a mutual agreement that the first didn't agree and the other was reluctant to admit so—but no words were spoken. The sink brought forth the occasional plink of a water drop, but it was a few more anxious, silent moments before Killian cleared his throat and rose from the cramped, stooped position he had been in. His face was rigid and full of uncertainty, but he forced a thin smile and ventured, "Aye, well, back to bed, then?"

"Yeah, just a minute," she answered tightly, a brief moment of eye contact to be enough for him to leave. Her glassy eyes met his, but truly they were still tracing the scene that held gleaming swords, leering auburns, and blood that oozed from a fatal wound between pale fingers.

Killian saw this, but he left slowly all the same; she watched him, observing the ripples in his jaw and the tightness of his shoulders. He meant well, of course he did. And clearly he wanted to do anything but leave her there with her thoughts—

But how was she to go back with him, to sleep after that? It wasn't just the vision—those had come before in the night—no, it was that they _had_ come again. There should not have been more hand tremors or inward visions of death and destruction; not after the final battle.

Yet, here they were, not five months after their wedding, trouble had found them. But Killian could be right: it may be nothing. A bad dream instead of a vision, stressful hand tremors instead of a savior's curse.

 _But then again..._

Emma stood up from the tub, no longer one weary from awakened sleep, but one tired of relentless battles, both emotional or otherwise. Back to bed, then, she decided, when the clock above the toilet caught her attention and ticked an audible two-thirty. Stumbling across the floor and down a darkened hallway, she moved numbly, and upon reaching her bedroom she was immediately thrust underneath the olive-green sheets protectively by Killian. A soft click from the lamp enveloped her in a blue-black darkness that swam deftly between the milky streams of moonlight, and an arm wrapped about her like nothing had taken place in the last half-hour.

 _But then again,_ Emma mused, everything foggy and sleepy, but still clear enough that she couldn't fall asleep _. We never could catch a break._

Eventually slipping her hand from the warm cocoon of body heat and heavy blankets, she raised her hand upwards; as if to touch the white rays that shone through her window. In the moonlight, her hand was pale and worn, but unmoving and still.

So were her visions fortunately, for no more were to come. But neither did sleep.

* * *

It was chamomile, again.

Emma's hands automatically wrapped themselves around the hot porcelain, then bounded back to her lap when they realized it was too hot to touch. There they remained, twisted into a fist, but immobile.

"There's honey in there."

"Thanks mom." She sent her a thin smile, warm, but too tired to be anything more.

Mary Margaret slid into the other wooden chair, her own mug of tea clasped between two sweater enveloped hands. "You sure you're getting enough sleep? You look tired," she stated, running a sharp, mother's gaze down the length of her daughter's weary face, taking note of dark circles and lines.

"I'm fine, mom. Just a little tired today, but it's nothing coffee won't fix," Emma reassured, resisting the urge in her fingers to run a hand down the the length of her forehead. It was bad enough to have Killian worried, she didn't want the rest of her family to suffer the same fate. Not until she knew it could be anything more than stress. And it really couldn't be.

She couldn't tell if her mom bought it or not, but in typical Snow White fashion, she smiled candidly and took a sip of her tea. The steam rose to cover her nose and mouth, and Emma wondered if maybe she drank just to hide a disapproving expression.

"So," her mother began when the mug had reached the table's coaster again. "I was thinking."

She raised an eyebrow, while her lips quirked up suspiciously. "M-hmm."

Mary Margaret's nose crinkled at the expression, but she leaned forward and beamed excitedly. "You know how Henry is finally learning to drive?"

"Ugh, don't remind me." Emma clamped onto the mug again, taking a sip gingerly. "Kid's too eager for having just turned fifteen. Which makes me wonder," the other brow lifted. "Why are you excited for that?"

Her mother shook her head, and slumped back in her seat. "Oh, I'm really not. But, David seems all too keen on it, surprisingly, considering the incident of a year and a half ago."

"Right, almost forgot about that."

"I haven't. I was there, fortunately, might I add." She smiled, and glanced out the window briefly. From here you could make out the edge of the bright red barn in the left corner, and the white fence that accompanied the long driveway up to the house, but not much else. "Anyway, since David is completely on board for teaching Henry to drive, I thought you and I could spend a little more time together when they're off doing their thing for a couple of hours. Of course, we wouldn't have to go anywhere because of Neal, or I could get Belle to watch him."

Emma's brow wrinkled, and another sip of tea made its way down her throat. "Of course I love to spend time with you, mom, but you act like I never see you."

She grimaced. "Well..."

"Mom, I see you every weekend for dinner, and at least twice a week when we bump into one another at 'Granny's'. Not to mention the lovely morning visits or the random afternoon ones." She leaned forward, her head cocking slightly to the right. "What's really going on? I wish you'd just be honest."

"Oh, Emma," Mary Margaret sighed, reaching forward to clasp her hand and give it a fond squeeze. "Doesn't something just seem...off?" At her daughter's worried flash in her eyes, she shook her head and pressed her lips together. "No, not today, or with us—it's everything. It's been five months since your savior battle, and nothing has happened. It's too—quiet."

Emma laughed lightly, and sent her an amused smile. "Mom, there's absolutely nothing wrong with that. I would think you of all people would appreciate that."

"Oh, I do. It's wonderful." A loving glance was sent towards the stroller in the corner, holding a sleeping Neal who flickered an eyelash and settled further into the cushion that supported his chubby cheeks. "Everything's perfect. But, it makes me wonder—"

"What could go wrong," Emma finished, a reticent sigh escaping her lips. "I can't say I haven't thought the same thing, but why not? After all we've been through." A pang of guilt shot into her heart like a piercing arrow, and she took a hasty swallow of chamomile to hide it. No use in fanning the flames; she didn't need to know about the vision. Or dream.

Mary Margaret beamed, round cheeks flushed with a pleased glow. "I'm so proud of you, Emma. You've completely turned your life around. Look at you, assuring me that we deserve peace and can have it too." A warm hand found its way onto her face, and Emma leaned into it. "You've changed your destiny when it was so surely written; you had hope and didn't falter—you had love and you didn't push it away."

The fingers left her cheek and resettled on the rustic wooden table that held a jumble of student's essays, a dish of strawberries, and a few red pens and markers. "You know, it's the people like you and Killian and Regina that really inspire me, Emma." Her mother looked as if she were about to tear up with emotion, and frankly, she felt about to follow, though it was more guilt based than anything. "You've changed, but you had to make that decision and work on it. All of you did. And now everyone's got their happy endings, even you. You did what you came for, and not only did you succeed, but you gained so many beautiful things along with it."

Emma swallowed thickly. "Thank you, mom." Her response seemed too crude and short to match up to her mother's eloquent pride, but she couldn't think of any other way to express her thoughts. And then a thought crossed her brain, and though her first instinct was to throw up a wall to hide it, her lips let it pass. "I can't help but think," she glanced up, and sent her a flat smile. "Is it enough, you know?"

Her mother cocked her head, a strand of straight black hair sliding into her eyes. "What do you mean, Emma?"

"Not that I'm not happy. Of course I am, how could I not be? It just feels as if I've completed every obligation and there's nothing left for me to do here. As if I'm a person stuck down in the Underworld again, but I've finished all my business and have nothing left to do."

"Except live," Mary Margaret completed firmly. "You live, Emma, and you make the best of it. You've had a rough life, and the last four years you've had to rush from one bad event to the next; trying to fix it all. I could understand how you would feel like you're missing something, but all you have to do is figure out what you need to search for instead." The last part was whispered, almost hopefully and wistfully.

She nodded, and downed the last of her tea. The dregs at the bottom were bitter, but the aftertaste sung of honey, and she set down the mug thoughtfully. "You're right, mom. Thank you."

"You're welcome. Now," her mother smirked, if Snow White could truly smirk without it holding some trace of friendliness. She supposed it was the Mary Margaret part of her. "I still think you and I are overdue for a ladies' night out. We could invite Regina, again."

"Sure, mom." Emma fiddled with the ring on her finger thoughtfully. "You better include Zelena and Belle on that list, too, though."

She laughed. "You're probably right. All right, it's settled then. I'll let you know once I've organized all the details."

"Sounds great, mom."


	2. An Unexpected Arrival

_**Author's Note: Thank you to the people who kindly followed and favorited this story, as well as my lovely review, you guys made my day!  
**_

 _ **I hope you enjoy this chapter, each "episode" will probably take up 2-3 chapters each, so I have the first one planned out at about three parts. Also, if again, you have any suggestions for things you'd like to see in this story, let me know with a review/PM.  
**_

 _ **A quick thank you to the guest reviewer, who kindly pointed out a few inconsistencies; I was able to fix them!**_

 _ **Disclaimer: I don't own OUAT, just the story!**_

* * *

Chapter Two: _An Unexpected Arrival_

 ** _Storybrooke_**

 ** _Present day..._**

"Coffee run?"

Emma lifted her head from her hands, startled. "Hmm?"

David smirked, and snatched the keys from the open drawer, shutting it with a metallic _bang_. "Coffee?"

"Oh, yes, please," she sighed, and blinking the ten minute sleep out of her eyes, re-focused hazily on the paperwork in front of her. "Do you know where the files from November are?"

Her father shrugged on his jacket, contemplating the question. "All the files? Shouldn't they be in the third drawer down?" He slipped the keys into his pocket, and glanced at the clock on the wall.

"Well, yes, but I can't find any of them." Emma bent down and tapped her fingers along the row of folders, scanning the labels for the fifth time. She heard footsteps, and soon saw a larger hand appear next to hers, rifling through the paperwork and then withdrawing a file.

"Here you go," he offered, plopping the folder onto the desk on top of her already full pile. "Easy to miss."

Another sigh escaped her lips. "Not really, I'm sorry, dad."

"Hey, it's okay. You're tired, it happens to the best of us." David squeezed her shoulder lightly, then headed back towards the door. "I'm off then. I'll be back in about ten, or fifteen if I run into Archie."

They exchanged an amused glance. "Alright, I'll be here." Emma flicked her gaze back to the thick yellow folder, and set it aside with an inward groan. It had been a while since she hadn't gotten any sleep, and was heavily out of practice; she was used to being able to pull through an entire day with hardly any fuel, but here she was at one-fifteen, with sleep tugging on her eyelids like there was a heavy weight attached to them.

She shuffled the papers, and flicked the edges with her thumb absentmindedly. At least her hand had remained still so far, no visions to be seen. Emma was beginning to wonder if last night had been a dream after all; she hadn't seen Killian this morning so she hadn't gotten the chance to ask him about it. Oh, well, she'd question him tonight when she got home. But, first, she had to get through this paperwork.

Emma rested her cheek on her hand, picked up a pen, and began scanning the lines in front of her, trying to keep them from flying out of her head once she had read them. It was a long, interminable half-hour that she sat through, but when the clock tocked above her and she glanced up, it read as two o' clock. A little surprised that so much time had passed, the blonde woman was more still at the absence of her father, who still hadn't returned from his coffee run. Archie could keep David occupied most certainly, but not for forty-five minutes at a time (unless it was one of his scheduled sessions, of course).

Swiveling around in her chair, Emma placed the pile of papers in her hands into the drawer, and closed it with a sense of finality. Now more concerned with other matters, she was about to pluck her phone from her jacket and call her father, but no sooner than she had picked it up, David came barreling into the room.

"Dad," she acknowledged, startled by his sudden, abrupt appearance. "I was just about to call you. Where have you been?"

He hesitated, then set a paper cup of coffee onto her desk. "Sorry, it's cold now."

"That's alright," Emma said slowly, eyeing him suspiciously. "What's going on? Are you alright?"

"Oh, of course, I'm fine. I have to head out to check something at the town's border; I got a call about twenty minutes ago." David took a sip of his own coffee, made a face, then tried to plaster on a grin like he hadn't. "Keep an eye on the station?"

"Well, sure, but I'd like to go with you. What's up?"

"Not sure, but it sounded urgent."

Emma stood up, picking up her jacket and sliding it up onto her shoulders. "Then I'm definitely going with you. I'll lock up the station and meet you there, okay?"

He looked as if he wanted to argue, but David merely nodded and grabbing his cup, called a brief "See you in a minute."

* * *

 ** _The Enchanted Forest_**

 ** _In the early time of King Leopold's reign..._**

The locks couldn't be picked. That was her conclusion.

The little girl scowled at the great wooden gate, and thrust her pointed chin forward stubbornly. There had to be another way, she would find it; she always did. Her sharp gaze lifted upwards, and she followed the expanse of rough, mossy stones that stretched up into a high wall. _Perfect._

She knelt on the damp, springy earth, crouched over her drawstring bag as inconspicuously as possible, though she was almost certain no one was about. At least, they shouldn't be; no one came into these parts of the woods—everyone was afraid. But, she wasn't.

A bundle of rope was withdrawn, clearly heavily used, but durable enough to be utilized a couple times more. It curled up on the earth next to the girl's knees as she dug further, small lip being bit thoughtfully. "Here it is," she murmured, pleased. A small green vial, glittering in the morning sun, was studied and looked over, and then thrust hastily into the threadbare pocket of her skirt. There was no time to have it in the open long.

Now prepared, the girl slung the bag once more over her shoulder, then taking a deep breath, whistled a soft melody. The birds in the great tree to her right perked up and began chirping a harmony, but she had only ears for one song. A boy peeked his head above the wall, and grinned, freckled cheeks flush with excitement as he whistled a matching tune. "Well?"

"Well? I have the rope, you idiot." The girl hoisted the coils high so he could see.

The boy chuckled too loudly for her tastes, especially considering how deathly quiet the forest was around them. "And how are you going to get it up here, eh'? I have one, too. I'll throw it down." His crop of auburn hair disappeared behind the stone, and she scowled again.

"I had to steal that, you know," the girl whispered seethingly. "Almost got caught, too."

His curls appeared again, this time with a bundle of rope in his small hands. "Glad you didn't. Here, grab this." Flinging the end of the rope down, it uncurled and came to rest at her feet. She sighed, tucked the other coil of rope back into her bag, and began to climb.

It didn't take her long to scale the wall, her feet found purchase on the slippery stones with a practiced air, and before she knew it, her hands were grasping the top of the wall. The boy clasped her hands, and helped her over the edge, both grinning wildly despite themselves.

"Do you have it?" he queried, eyes flashing with an excited fire.

"Course' I do," the girl scoffed, patting her pocket tauntingly. "But you can't have it."

"Don't want it." He stepped back and began to bring up the rope that dangled over the wall, swaying in the slight morning breeze. "What would I do with it, anyhow?"

She ignored this and watched him at his task, her blonde curls swinging into her face as she brushed them aside impatiently. "Can't we just leave it? The mist is thick enough, no one would notice unless they were looking."

"Better safe than sorry," he refuted, and stood up with a handful of rope. "I'm done now, we can go."

"Good," she nodded tersely. They tossed the rope into a corner brimming with dirt and cobwebs, and scurried across the top of the gate, hunched over so that they might not be seen from the ground. Once they had reached the steps, she was about to descend, when the boy clasped her shoulder and spun her around. "What?" she hissed. "We don't have time to sit around and have a chat."

He lowered his head to hers, only a mere five inches beneath his own, and breathed a hasty warning. "I'm game if you are Gold', but just remember," here he leaned in so close, she could see the breadcrumbs from his breakfast on the corners of his lips. "If we do this, there's no turning back."

Goldilocks took a defiant step backwards. "I know, we've already discussed this. Let's go, now. Before they wake up."

He shifted his own pack, and followed her down the flight of stairs, curving in a dizzying spiral along the gate tower walls. When they reached the bottom, she stopped him with one hand, using the other to raise the hood of her wool cloak over her face. The girl's features, now marked by shadows that created a grim air, set her mouth determinedly, and gestured for him to step forward.

"One of the guards is passing the entrance," Goldilocks warned, watching the man pace warily. "Once he has turned the corner, we run. Fast."

The boy sized up the wide courtyard, eyeing the risky venture of scampering across for so long in plain sight with unease. "We have one chance to get this right." They exchanged glances, two sets of brown eyes inwardly contemplating and processing what was about to be done. "If we get caught..."

"You don't need to finish that sentence." As they watched, the guard finally disappeared behind the south corner, and she nodded to her friend behind her as the clank of metal faded. "Three, two...one!"

He gathered his courage, held his breath, and bolted out of the shadowed doorway; long legs carrying him faster than he had ever gone. Their footsteps rang through the still courtyard, and even Goldilocks' confidence wavered the slightest at the noise filling the area. But, they made it safely, both children out of breath when they crouched at the base of the stairs, listening intently for the disastrous sounds of heavy footfalls or shouts.

"We made it," he sighed, taking advantage of the pause to squat and re-tie his poorly laced boot.

She snuck her hand into her apron pocket, felt the smooth, cool glass, and smiled. "Of course we did."

The boy ran his fingers over the leather string he had finished tying, and raised a curious freckled face towards Goldilocks. "You're quite confident."

"Of course I am." Her fingers curled around the bottle. "Now, if I'm not back in ten minutes—"

"Run," he finished, nodding. "But, you'll make it back. I'm not leaving you here."

She stood up, brushing off the dirt unnecessarily from her already filthy skirt. "You might have to. I'll see you in a minute."

He nodded, clearly reluctant, but obedient and loyal to their discussed agreement. "Good luck, Gold'."

She didn't respond, but turned from the young boy, and stole up the stone steps with all the grace and silence of a church mouse. She didn't need luck, of that she was certain. Just skill.

* * *

 ** _Storybrooke_**

 ** _Present day..._**

She slammed the door of her yellow bug, and jogged over to her dad, who was squatting over an object she couldn't quite make out laying on the road. Zipping up the front of her jacket against the abnormally chilly afternoon, Emma crossed her arms over her chest and planted her feet on the pavement next to her father. "What did you find?" The wind immediately picked up and began whistling in her ears, almost in a way that reminded her of hushed whispers and murmurs.

David grunted as he picked up the object and held it in between his fingers, inspecting it with a practiced eye as he turned it this way and that. She leaned over his shoulder to see it better, and raised a curious brow as it caught the glint of the yellow sun on its surface. "Where did that come from?"

"I don't know," he answered, still absorbed in processing the object. "The Blue Fairy seemed pretty concerned about it, though."

She lifted her eyebrows, surprised. "The Blue Fairy, huh? Really, she called you? About a magical object?"

David stood up, testing the weight of their find in his hand. "How do you know it's magical?"

"Well, if the fairies are concerned about it, it has to be magical." Emma plucked the object out of his hand, and lifted it up, the green liquid swirling in its container with thick waves. "It looks like a potion."

"I agree," he nodded, placing his hands on his hips thoughtfully. "You think we should take it to Regina?"

She glanced at him. "Might be a good idea. She's better with this stuff than I am." Turning her attention back to the vial, Emma squinted at the liquid and could have sworn she saw specks of gold floating about in the swirls. "I wonder why the fairies are concerned. Where do you think it came from?"

"I have no idea," David admitted, taking it back from her contemplatively. "But, I think we should find out."

Emma barked out a short laugh. "Probably a good idea. I'll meet you at Regina's, I'm just going to pick up more coffee first."

Her father stepped forward, placing a firm, gentle hand on her arm. "Why don't you sit this one out, honey."

"I'm sorry?" She sent him a puzzled, almost irritated look.

"It's not that I don't want you there with me, Emma, but you're exhausted and you need rest. I can handle it today, and we'll talk about it tomorrow." Her mouth popped open, but he raised a hand with a sympathetic smile. "I'm just dropping it off at Regina's, and then I'm going back to the station. There's not much we can do right now, anyway."

Emma let a sigh escape her mouth, and shrugged in defeat. She did feel rather sluggish, after all, and he was right: they wouldn't be doing much else after giving the vial to Regina. "Alright, dad. I'll see you tomorrow."

He smiled, patting her shoulder as they walked in opposite directions. "Sleep well!"

"We'll see," she murmured, shivering as another blast of wind hit her.

* * *

This lock was easier to pick; it only took her fifteen seconds to have the door opened and creaking inwards on its rusty hinges. Slipping the tool back into her pocket where it clinked against the green vial, Goldilocks tip-toed into the room, sure that any moment someone would emerge from a hiding spot and hold her at sword-point. In this area, she was fortunate still, for no one appeared to be in the building albeit herself and so she moved through the rooms without confrontation.

As she passed the thick, crudely crafted dining table, the girl regarded the uneaten bowls of lumpy porridge resting atop it, and immediately stiffened. If the bowls hadn't been eaten from, someone was certainly near—if not in the house. Goldilocks nervously slipped over to the table, and picked up one of the wooden bowls, dipping a tentative finger into the oatmeal to test the warmth. Satisfied that the gooey breakfast had been left out for at least an hour, she wiped her finger on the edge of the bowl, and moved from the untouched meal; creeping silently through the ground floor rooms to ensure that no one who lived there remained.

As she passed a bundle of rosemary that dangled from the ceiling above her, Goldilocks lowered her head to avoid bumping it against the door frame, and walked straight into a large rocking chair. "Blasted thing," she grumbled, flexing her sore toe and pushing the furniture aside with an irritated grunt.

Besides her run in with the irritating chair, everything downstairs seemed safe enough that she padded quickly up the stairs to her right and emerged abruptly into what appeared to be a communal bedroom. In it rested a few beds, all laid tenderly with handmade quilts, quality clearly one of an experienced hand, unlike the woodwork in the house. It would seem a darling family lived here, but she knew better.

Done with her brief examination, Goldilocks hurried to one of the beds, dropping onto its surface roughly enough that it complained with a squeaky whine. Here was where her plan was enacted. Taking the bottle from her pocket, she inspected it with a malicious grin, and uncorked the vial with a satisfying _pop_. A foul smelling odor erupted from the top in a cloud of grey smoke, but she ignored this (except for a slight wrinkle of her pert nose), and lifting the soft pillow next to her leg, let a drop of the liquid fall onto the mattress. It sank into the cloth, seeping into the fabric with a green hue, but soon disappeared until it was as if nothing had ever happened.

She did this with each pillow in turn, until the room stunk like it had been dipped in dragon egg, and yet nothing appeared unchanged. Her round cheeks flushed pleasantly, and her crooked teeth swung upwards into a light giggle. It had worked, and she hadn't been caught. Now all was left was to find—

"I told you not to go out this morning."

Goldilocks froze; the blood that had been racing through her out of exhilaration iced over her body until she couldn't move. She knew that voice.

Another growled a reply, but she couldn't catch the words this time, though in retrospect, it didn't really matter. She need to leave—immediately. Head swiveling around for an exit, and finding none, she began to grow fearful. They were going to catch her here, and when they did...shuddering, she hid the vial in her bag, planted her feet, and prepared for war. She didn't have a knife, but if worse came to worse, her papa had taught her how to punch a man well.

Footsteps were soon heard on the stairs, and despite herself, she couldn't help but gulp as they drew nearer. Three heads soon appeared, all fair and all ugly, but each one could easily crush her in one fist. The first one noticed her immediately, and stepped into the room with a smug leer.

"Look who we have here, lads: a guest!"

The other two ceased their bickering, and showed equally horrid sneers as Goldilocks retreated, and they slid forwards. "There's nowhere for you to run, lass," the one with a scar on his cheek chided, gesturing to the cramped room. "We built it that way."

The young girl straightened her spine, and gathered all the courage she could muster; though little it was. "And a terrible job you did, indeed," she jeered.

He scowled ferociously, but the other two chortled, and took another step closer. "She has a biting tongue, the viper!" The first grinned, then reaching into his boot, withdrew a wicked looking blade that glinted frighteningly. "But, I'm afraid we'll have to cut it out, eh'?"

"Please," Goldilocks swallowed thickly, watching every movement of the knife. "I meant no harm. I'll leave immediately."

The third one, who hadn't spoken yet, lifted his lumpy nose in the air and inhaled deeply. "Sheep's dung, she didn't. Can't you smell it, brothers?"

"Maybe that's what she brought with her," the scarred one drawled, eyeing her in a way that made her blood curdle. "Or it could be her, the farmgirl scent."

The first one scowled, and glared at the other two. "Shut up, we don't have time for this. Grab her," he ordered, and the other two lunged.

She was pleased to say she didn't scream.


	3. Jailbreak

**_Author's Note: Thank you again to the wonderful people who followed, favorited, and reviewed these last two chapters: it is extremely appreciated!_**

 ** _Here is the last part to the first "episode"! Then, we'll be moving on, so let me know what you think about this first part!_**

 ** _Disclaimer: I don't own OUAT, just the story!_**

* * *

Chapter Three: _Jailbreak_

 ** _The Enchanted Forest_**

 ** _In the early years of King Leopold's reign..._**

Her papa had taught her how to fight well.

It had been another clear, summer morning, the early time where birds still swung about the sky as if on puppet strings performing a strange sort of flying dance, and the grass buzzed with a magical sort of presence. Everything felt alive in the summer, and it was why she never failed to revel in its magic. There were rocks to find and skip across the silvery pond, butterflies to chase after on the winds from the south, and an endless abundance of delectable fruits; dangling on low hanging trees in the forest. Just close enough that she was always able to stand up on tip-toe and twist an apple or a peach off of the gnarled branches.

Goldilocks had been drawing water from the well, a task she most despised; the rope cut into her still soft palms, and the full bucket took all her strength to pull up onto the ledge. She had finally managed to grab its handle and plunk it with a slosh onto the grass at her feet, when she felt the calloused hands of a young male twist her wrist and throw her onto the ground. The young girl cried out in pain, clutching her wrist and squirming away from the two older boys who grinned at her and flashed the handle of a cheese knife to scare her. They probably hadn't meant to hurt her wrist, just frighten her off, but all the same, she had run barreling into her little house crying and screaming about monsters and bullies.

Her papa had sat stone-faced in his great big chair as always, rough full beard being twisted thoughtfully as he listened to her cries. He had left soon after her mother wrapped her wrist and caressed her soothingly, but she didn't think much of it; after all her hand throbbed dreadfully and she rather felt like dying. Later on, she heard her mother say something about a couple of boys being hurt under odd, unknown circumstances, but again, she didn't think much on it.

Then, when her wrist had full healed, and she began to help out with chores again, her papa drew her aside into the barn and taught her how to punch. Every evening, when her mama was toiling over the potato peel stew in the kettle, he taught her how to fight. How to kick, swing, take a man down with a carefully aimed punch...and so she grew strong, grew confident. She became a fighter.

And she knew he was proud.

Goldilocks took a deep breath now, eyes defiant and daring. She was a fighter still, and these men were just three boys who could be taken down—she would try. Unfortunately, she had hardly gotten a whooping battle cry out before they grasped her arms roughly and pinned her against the wall, a deadly curved blade across her throat. It felt cool and smooth against her flushed skin, and the young girl focused on this as she carefully began creeping her hand towards her skirt pocket.

"What a shame," the scarred man cooed, teeth glinting in the candlelight. "The little warrior won't be able to fight much longer. Too bad, really, you were quite the brave one, weren't you?"

Goldilocks growled, and the knife pressed harder, drawing a thin trickle of thick, crimson blood that tickled her neck as it slid beneath the collar of her dress. "Let. Me. Go."

The broad shouldered man (the one she had deigned as apparent leader), wrapped a fistful of her blonde hair around his fingers and pulled tightly. She whimpered involuntarily, hand still stretching for that bottle. That was all she needed, then she'd win this fight and run out alive.

"Let's hear another cry, lass. Come on, give us a good one," he leered, breath rancid and smelling of the garlic she knew grew on the outskirts of the castle.

However, instead of the plea he so wanted, she presented him with a lovely kick to the groin. As he bent over and the two other men hesitated, Goldilocks snatched her vial of green liquid and held it aloft. "Don't come any closer!" she warned, shaking it threateningly.

"Are we supposed to be afraid of a drink, warrior? Give it here," one of the others not hunched over and swearing foully under his breath demanded, palm outstretched.

Daringly, she held it out of reach, boldly staring the man down. "If you're not afraid of it, you won't mind if I keep it, do you?" She uncorked the bottle, and instantly the pungent odor floated out into the air once more. "Mmm, smell that, boys? That's sheep's dung, isn't it?"

The man who she had kneed in the groin was now fully straightened, glare now deadly sharp with the points of a thousand readily aimed daggers. "You're playing with fire, lass."

Goldilocks laughed, a real guffaw that drove her mother wild with disgust. "Oh, no, not fire." She smiled prettily, then with a hasty prayer and crossed fingers, darted to the three men and doused them with the contents of the bottle. For a moment, nothing happened, and they began to chortle, the liquid dripping off of them in gooey strands. More knives came out to dance, and her muddy brown eyes widened into great big puddles of fear. "It should have worked," she mumbled, fingers now trembling with anticipation.

The brother with the purple-white scar like lightning opened his thin lips to reply, but no sound ever came out again—at least not a human one. His awful turnip-shaped nose morphed into a black, hairy snout, and his words came out a roar. That was all it took.

All three men's knives fell to the floor with a great clatter as their hands turned to malicious looking paws, their beady eyes grew beadier, and their torsos and legs took on the shape of a shaggy, dark animal. And when Goldilocks took a step back, there were three bears.

"Now," she began, tucking the golden locks of hair behind her ears firmly. "I was going to escape earlier, and be gone when you transformed (you see I put this potion underneath your lovely, little pillows), but this is admittedly far more fun." The young girl raised her chin and her finger. "As the possessor of this bottle," she held the now empty glass vial in one fist, aloft in the stinking air. "I command you to move aside and never bother me or any innocent again." _Please let this work,_ she thought.

And she was lucky, for the great, solemn animals lumbered aside obediently, crashing into the wooden beds and crushing them with their massive feet. Goldilocks strode unafraid, though inwardly tentative, across the wooden floor and down the stairs. She had won, she was safe.

As soon as her feet hit the earthen floor, they stirred into a fury and flung her out the door with all the might of a cyclone. Her heart beat furiously, but her face was flushed with pleasure; and before she knew it, she was out of the gate.

As she whirled to a halt, there before her stood the boy, who sprang up in fright; red hair sticking up as if there had been a great wind. For a moment, she thought it had been her and she was now the owner of a great magic (she really had been a twister!), but then she observed the way he ran his fingers though the curls and sighed.

"You're back," he stammered, eyes flitting from the house to her form. "Did you—"

"Yes." Goldilocks stood proudly, planting herself like an oak tree taking root, stretching her arms into the air like branches with glee. "I did it. Now, everything is set to right, again."

He slung his satchel back over his shoulder, and finally grinned; crooked teeth bending into a smile that reminded her of organ keys; how wide they were! "I think this deserves a celebration, Gold'."

"Oh, most certainly," she answered dreamily, as if conjuring up images of mother's lavender and rosemary cakes she made only on birthdays. She'd make it now for her if only Goldilocks told her tale—she'd be proud of her daughter, and they'd celebrate. "Let's go, now. Before more guards arrive."

"A good idea."

Goldilocks spun in happy circle, mind cloudy with a fog that came from a trio of black bears and a dark-green potion. "Oh, Gable, how wonderful it is to be triumphant!"

* * *

 ** _Storybrooke_**

 ** _Present day..._**

It was almost dark by the time she got home. Emma pulled the puttering car up to the curb, observing the lone lit window in what she knew to be the kitchen outlook. Not surprising, but she had expected Killian to be out still; he usually didn't get home until about five. You could barely make out the spiny leaves of a potted plant resting on the sill, the wooden blinds still not shut, and she could have sworn she saw the silhouette of someone moving about behind them.

Emma turned her attention back to the keys she was withdrawing from the ignition, and stuck them into her pocket, opening the car door in one fluid motion. She shut the door, and paused a moment to consider the chilly air that wrapped about her form as she stood still. It made far more sense to be cold now, but earlier was just odd. After all, it was summer, it shouldn't be this icy so soon—then again, she never was adept at observing weather patterns.

The blonde woman shook it off: it was nothing to be concerned about. There were far more important things if she really wanted to be worried about something, anyway. Making her way up the freshly laid concrete of her front walk, Emma shivered, and moved a bit quicker so she was soon inside where it was far warmer.

She shut the front door, tossing the keys from her pocket onto the entry table. "Hey, I'm home," she announced, bending over to unzip her boots. "You won't believe who called David today."

Killian appeared in the kitchen's door frame (where she expected him to be), and began walking towards her when she did. He met her halfway, grabbing her lower arms and kissing her briefly. "The Blue Fairy," he guessed, smiling a bit when she drew back in bafflement.

"How do you know that?"

He chuckled almost sheepishly, and scratched the back of his neck awkwardly. "Well, love, you're not the only one who has been out today."

"I know that," Emma smiled, entwining her fingers onto the front part of his vest. "But I'm quite interested in how you have this information. Where have you been today?"

Killian raised his eyebrows tauntingly, and took a step backwards. "Here and there. Would you like to see what I've managed to produce from that infernal light box? I think I'm becoming quite adept with how to manage its functions."

"Which 'light box', first of all, and secondly," she followed him quickly as he swept into the kitchen. "You're hiding something. What did you do, today?"

"Love, you should know by now not to question a pirate's motives." He stood by the microwave, grinning broadly as he pushed the 'start' button. "I presume you know how this works, so you'll see I've got it right, aye?"

Emma licked her lips warningly, reminding him of a viper flicking its forked tongue dangerously. "Yeah, you do. What else did you manage to accomplish, today?" She wasn't buying a word of what he had said thus far; he should have known, really he should have. But, he knew a losing battle when he saw one.

"Alright," he conceded, pushing the microwave door shut with a click. "However, before I reveal whatever it is I have done, you must swear to hear me out in full before becoming...enraged."

Her eyebrows practically flew off her face. "This should be good."

Killian set his face as a sort of mental fortress to prepare for the coming onslaught, and leaned against the counter. "I talked to Regina." Silence. "About what happened last night."

"I'm sorry, you did what?" Emma uncrossed her arms, and her lips parted in a disbelieving, betrayed expression he knew all too well. "How could you—"

He held up his hand patiently, apology practically oozing from every crevice. "Emma, you have to understand, I was concerned, naturally. And she is the obvious choice to speak about such matters."

"Obvious? Killian, _we_ haven't even gotten the chance to discuss it, let alone entertain the idea of telling other people. How could you go to Regina without asking me?" Her jaw was clenched, and she was almost shaking with anger; he felt ever the worse for being the cause.

"It truly wasn't planned, love. Your father got a call earlier, which I assume you are fully aware of, regarding the Blue Fairy. Regina is involved, for a reason I am unaware of, but the point is I bumped into her on my travels today."

Emma scowled, drawing her arms back into a fold against her chest defensively. "Oh, of course, that explains how you know about the Blue Fairy. Just not, oh—why the hell you chose to tell her something that shouldn't have been talked about."

Killian let a short sigh pass from his lips. "Aye, I know. The truth of the matter is that in our brief conversation, she mentioned the scenario involving the fairies to be one of utmost importance; much so that she appeared worried and must have let more slip than she intended. In saying as much, it brought forth my concern over how it might affect magic and those attached to it; namely you." He glanced at Emma, but she stood in a continued statue-like fixture, stony gaze cold and distant. "Regina asked why I appeared so worried...Emma, she could help. We could prevent anything that might happen like last time."

Her mouth bobbed open and shut a few times before she lifted her hands in surrender, turning on her heel to exit the kitchen. "I don't want to talk about this, right now."

"Emma," he protested, following her as she jogged up the stairs.

"No, Killian, I don't want to discuss anything with you." She paused at the second flight of stairs, and glanced down, red-rimmed eyes still icy. "Thank you for your honesty."

Her blonde curls disappeared behind the railing, and he sank back. Truly, one could have predicted these events, but clearly he was not adept in handling them.

* * *

 ** _The Enchanted Forest_**

 ** _In the time of King Leopold's reign..._**

"You took your time." He unlocked her cell without a word, stepping back as she bolted through, grin bouncing onto her features as she stepped outside. The woman inhaled loudly as if she was taking a lungful of fresh air, and spread her arms out wide gleefully. "But, I'd say you've redeemed yourself."

"I'm glad you think so," the man said grimly, not appearing amused or even pleased with his actions, instead looking as if he'd rather shove Goldilocks right back into her prison.

Noting this, her lips plumped into a mocking pout, and she trailed her dirty fingertips up his arm. "Aw, you don't look happy to see me. Could it be the setting? Too familiar?"

"Let's go," he answered brusquely, swatting away the offending fingers from his armored shoulder. "We don't have much time."

Goldilocks stepped back, a bit bemused, but masking it with a smug smirk. "A familiar phrase, isn't it?"

He turned on his leather-booted heel, and began striding back down the dank corridor, metal clanking together as he swung his arms against his sides. She was swift to follow, her moth-eaten cloak billowing out behind her like a brown bird about to take flight. "Well, you've become quite the talker, haven't you?" The man's nostrils flared, and he laid a hand on the plain hilt of his sword, banging against his thigh with each footfall. She noticed the movement and raised a ruffled eyebrow. "I see."

"If it's all the same to you, I'd rather make the rest of this journey in silence," he finally spoke, voice gruff and almost monotone. His stony gaze was set straight ahead, and he walked like a man with a purpose; confidently and determined.

"He speaks," Goldilocks scoffed in mock surprise, ignoring his request for quiet. Quickening her footsteps to match his swift ones, she soon was jogging alongside him, leather boots beside worn, black slippers. "Whatever could have made you so opposed to my company, dear?"

This too, he readily dismissed, turning the corner into the next completely identical passageway. A few more attempts were made on her part to coax a response out of him, but eventually those too faded away like a burning ember, and they paced in matched silence. For Goldilocks, it was a welcome relief when she spotted the great stone steps that marked the beginning of freedom and her strides lengthened, as if they too were eager to taste the fresh mountain and forest breeze.

As her first foot landed on the stair, she heard a grunt, and paused. "Thank you," she guessed, acknowledging the begrudging noise.

The man's jaw clenched. "I didn't choose to release you. A 'thank you' is far inferior to what you owe me."

She turned, blonde curls now whipping dangerously. "And what do I owe you?"

He stepped forward. "Your life."

"I don't owe you anything," Goldilocks scoffed, spinning back around and continuing her ascent to glorious liberty.

"Oh, I think you do." It was enough to stop her and he knew it; she never could back down from a challenge. "You know you do, too."

Something squeezed her heart, something like a vice that gripped it so tightly, she wondered that it didn't crumble to dust right there and then. "I don't owe you anything, Gabriel."

The blonde woman heard a heavy clank, and automatically she began to run, fearful that he would chase after her with a vengeance she truly knew was rightfully deserved.

"You can run, Gold', but I'll find you. Revenge always has a way of taking priority, doesn't it?" his voice echoed through the halls and corridors, and even out into the sunshine of the forest—even when she had run seven miles without stopping.

It rang like a tolling bell that threatened the end of her existence.

* * *

 ** _Storybrooke_**

 ** _Present day..._**

Regina crossed her arms, evaluating the bottle in front of her. It glimmered with a colored liquid like evergreens, swimming with flecks of gold that bobbed about in it like schools of metallic fish. She glanced up at David incredulously. "You want me to figure out what this does?"

"Well, I figured that would be an easy task for you," he nodded, eyeing her with an obvious spark of dubiety.

She caught the doubt, and extinguished it sharply. "It is," Regina snapped crossly, and stood up from her chair, stalking to one of her bookshelves with impatient clicks of her shiny, black pumps. Her manicured nails hovered over the assortment of spines, until she found the right one, and slid it out from the alcove. "I always hide it in here," came the explanation. "Too many people have discovered it in my vault."

David leaned forward with interest, the unease now a twinkle of curiosity. "What is it?"

"My encyclopedia of sorts." The dark haired woman sank back into her office chair primly, ever the queen when it came to grace. "An almanac of magical items I've personally encountered, and ones I've heard of, but haven't yet gotten to search for or seen."

"And you think the bottle is in there?"

"I don't know, but I can find out," Regina answered, already flicking through the dog-eared pages quickly. They fluttered with each movement, and it sounded almost as if the paper itself was alive; the wings of a tree and the feathers of ink and words. She soon became absorbed in her task, but when she noticed David was still there, arms crossed, and brow furrowed, she sighed and slammed the book. "Look, it's going to take a little longer than ten minutes, you might as well go home. I'll let you know if I find anything."

He got up slowly, and began heading out the door, when he paused with it open a fraction. "This seems to be important, Regina."

"I know." Her face darkened. "Are you insinuating a lack of trust? Now?"

"No, not at all," David assured, hands up in a placating gesture. "Just...if the Blue Fairy is concerned, it means we all should be."

Regina raised her eyebrows, and let a slip of a reticent sigh escape into the air. Her fingers brushed over the book's worn, leather cover. "You're optimistic today, Charming."

He blinked, almost surprised. "Just being realistic."

"And usually realism for you and Mary Margaret is a heavy dose of optimism," she agreed, and flipped open the book to the bookmarked page. "I'll let you know if something comes up, alright?"

David nodded his reluctant assent, ever the one itching to participate in the work, but he merely backed out of the room, and made his way to the police car that waited outside of Regina's verdant green hedges. He could find something else to do, he _would_ find something: this felt important in a strange way he couldn't decipher.

She watched him go slyly, and when assured of his departure at the telling purr of his vehicle, she immediately grabbed the vial on her mahogany desk and held it almost gingerly with her thumb and forefinger, scrutinizing it closely. "Where did you come from?" Regina hummed, gently placing it back on the table with all the care of a loaded bomb. They had no idea what they were dealing with—but she was fairly certain the Blue Fairy did.

Maybe it was time for her to pay the Mother Superior a visit. But, first...

The brunette read through the rest of the book quickly, knowing that she did have time to figure out the mystery, but she wasn't sure how much. She began to adopt the nervous habit of glancing at the bottle every thirty seconds like an hourglass; sure the sand would run out any second and drop into the bottom half—and time would be up. Of course it didn't, but that couldn't qualm her anxiety any.

When she had read the final lines of the book, searched through every paragraph and footnote, dissected each sketch, and hadn't found anything, her lips pursed. Regina was aware of the potion's potency, of what it was capable, why did she need a drawing or a sentence to tell her? The woman stood up, hands clasped about the ancient book. _Because if there's a chance it could be diluted, if this is truly what I'm thinking of, we may be dealing with something we can't handle._

Regina shoved her thoughts away, stuffing them like bundles of unwanted clothing into a cramped dresser drawer. She didn't have time for 'what ifs', she needed to figure out where the vial had come from, why it was here, and most importantly, if it was truly powerful enough as the legends had spoken of.

Powerful enough to fear.


	4. An Icy Wind

_**Author's Note: Thank you to the people who continue to favorite, follow, and review! Your feedback is much appreciated!**_

 _ **Here begins 'episode two'! I hope you all enjoy, this isn't one of my favorites that I have written, but it is a necessary chapter! Also, I apologize that this took longer than usual to be written; I had a busy last couple of days!  
**_

 _ **Please let me know what you think, and what do you guys think about the show being cancelled? Season seven wasn't the best, but I'll certainly miss anything we get...  
**_

 _ **Disclaimer: I don't own OUAT, just the story!**_

* * *

Chapter Four: _An Icy Wind_

 ** _Storybrooke_**

 ** _Present day..._**

"You actually called Prince Charming?" she cocked an eyebrow, clearly not impressed nor pleased at this revelation. "You know what this is, don't you?"

The Blue Fairy folded her hands together, knuckles white as they pressed tightly against one another. "Of course I do, Regina. But the fact remains that while this sort of magic is in our town, we need to strive to protect it from the threat it poses; and that means all members must be involved. You cannot defeat a battle with one that is meant for a hundred."

Regina smiled condescendingly. "Lovely adage, however, you are wrong on one point. _Because_ this magic is in our town, we must not involve those who live here." The woman slid forward, elbows on her knees as she lowered her voice—not for secrecy, but for a warning. "Some things need to be handled with discretion, Mother Superior, and this is one of them. Do you truly believe Cinderella would know how to handle this? You and I do, they don't."

"While I cannot deny that this is true, David and his family do have an extensive experience with magic, not to mention the fact that their daughter wields it." She matched her tilt, lips still pressed into a thin line that seemed all too suited for the pin-straight hair and blouse she wore. "Let's also not exclude the reality that the Charmings are the town's security and investigation branch. This is their job."

Regina ground her teeth, clearly not convinced. "You put far too much faith in them. Their job includes routine security and border patrol; not magical objects that drop out of the sky."

"You do not trust them, then?"

"I don't see how that's any of your business," she snapped, springing at the fairy like a tiger set loose from a trap. "However, all you need know is that my trust does not extend to certain arenas—and that includes this instance."

In response to this, the Blue Fairy lifted the vial from the desk where it had been sitting between them like a pawn in a chess match; waiting for the first person to make a move. "What do you propose we do, then?"

"About the Charmings, or the potion?" Regina snorted, pursing her lips. "Because I'm fairly certain now that they know, they'll be diving headfirst into it."

"Do you know where it came from?"

The sudden question caught the other woman off guard, and she drew back, puzzled. "You mean you don't know? I thought you did, after all, you were the one to call David and tell him to investigate it."

The Mother Superior passed a tired hand over her forehead, and then sent it back to lie in wait in her lap. For a world without magic, they sure did seem to get quite a lot of it—never mind that it was a magical town. "No, I don't know. Yesterday afternoon, I felt the presence of an item that I hadn't before—once with magical properties. Sometimes this happens, yes, but in this instance it felt different; almost as if the magic itself was warped in some way." She sighed and took a sip of her tea thoughtfully, running her tongue over her lips crisply afterwards. "It's strong, there's no mistaking it. It is a very powerful object, and as soon as David had hung up, I had an inkling about what it might be." A terse hand flutter was sent towards the potion. "And then you confirmed my suspicions."

"Now, see, this makes sense," Regina mused, eyebrows lifting in amusement. "You didn't know it was the bottle, you just knew it should be checked out by the town's resident heroes."

A sharp glance that insinuated a motherly sort of disapproval was launched in her direction. "I suppose, however I re-iterate, it is their job and I merely saw fit that they fulfill it."

"Yes, and if you had known before you called the station that we were dealing with this—" she sent a nod towards the glass bottle, iridescent and frankly rather intriguing. "Would you have let David and Emma handle it?" At the fairy's silence, Regina's lips curled into a bittersweet smile. "As I thought."

"Perhaps," the Blue Fairy swallowed primly, face devoid of emotion. "However, than the truth remains that they do, in fact, know about it. With this, we can either choose to be unproductive, or utilize their knowledge and experience to aid us."

The other woman's brow lifted yet again. " _Us_? Are you implying that we are now working together?"

She hesitated. "I think it would be for the best, after all, with such a potential threat..."

"Yes, I suppose so," Regina agreed flatly, crossing her legs as she settled back into the uncomfortable chair she had been forced to sit in. "Then, what do you propose we do? I think we need to figure out where this bottle came from, how it got here—"

"And why," the Mother Superior completed, nodding as they simultaneously eyed the vial uneasily. "I also believe efforts should be made towards research, as well; determining if this potion is truly as powerful as I've heard."

Regina hummed an agreement, then uncrossing her legs, furrowed her brow contemplatively. "And if it is?" All the thoughts she had been running through her brain like a miniature, gloomy parade came to mind, and the wary regard for the bottle re-surfaced.

"If it is," the fairy took a terse, sharp breath. "Then, it appears Storybrooke has something to be concerned about."

The brunette took a moment to process what she already knew to be truth. Of course, this what she had been thinking, all along; hadn't she been concerned earlier? Why should the fairy's agreement surprise her?

She tapped her fingers on her arm absently, watching the slivers of sunlight dance across the Mother Superior's desk top, each one slitted from the blinds that hung across the window. Even in this immaculate office, one could observe the floating specks of dust that twirled about the air; lit from the beams of sunlight. It was a pretty scene, but one that was overshadowed by grimmer things, and it made both of the women uncomfortable.

Regina automatically popped open her lips, prepared to drawl out a rather promising awkward farewell, when something caught her glance on the broad wood of the desk. Where there had been squares of sunlight, was now crossed with dotted shadows that fell across the surface in slow waves.

Immediately, she jerked her head to the window, unsure why shadows would unnerve her—and let her lips fall apart in disbelief when she did. "Not possible." Regina bolted from her seat, clicking over to the frosty glass just as the Blue Fairy noticed and followed her gaze.

She too strode to the window, both women peering out of the blinds as if they had never seen what lay outside before. "Well," the Mother Superior murmured. "I suppose there may be more yet to the arrival of the vial."

Regina lifted a hand to touch the icy glass, watching as flakes of snow drifted down in twirling skirts of frost; each drift whirling about in a way that remind her of pale dancers flitting about their stage. They pranced on the whims of the wind, but all eventually took their place on the floor. And so, the whole landscape that had been bursting with greenery two minutes ago was now blanketed in a porcelain white. It practically swallowed the town with the sort of quiet only snow could bring—eerie, and yet so delicate and lacy.

"It's July," she finally stammered, still not trusting her eyes and in consequence, what they were seeing.

The Blue Fairy turned from the window, arms crossed and chin set. "Yes. Indeed it is. **"**

* * *

 ** _The Enchanted Forest_**

 ** _In the time of King Leopold's reign..._**

"...and the winds that had tossed their little ship about—much like a toy boat in a bathtub, Jonathan observed—finally ceased. The sun that had been hidden from them behind a billowing grey curtain poked through the fabric and shone brilliantly upon their mighty proud vessel; as if nothing had happened. And as the fair haired lad stood upon the prow of his ship, he knew that luck may not always find them, but if one hoped for something hard enough, it just might become true."

 _He shut the covers of his volume, contemplating the passage just as a voice queried, "Father, how quixotic that seems! To be saved from a sinking ship only by hopefulness?" The small child with coal hair that tumbled about her shoulders sat at his feet, hands clasped and twinkling eyes wide._

 _He leaned over and clucked her chin fondly. "And why not, my dear? We have nothing if not hope."_

 _"_ _Belief, darling." A cough was heard, at a volume that implied the owner was attempting to quiet it. "And belief, always."_

 _King Leopold squeezed the hand that lay in his fondly, trying with much difficulty not to notice the feather like weight that it held. "Of course, always belief there may be. Even when hope is not present."_

 _The young girl rocked forward onto her knees, pinning down the length of her creamy-white nightgown. "Yet, aren't they much the same, father? You hope in something just as much as you believe in it, do you not?"_

 _"_ _So, clever, love." The woman racked with another flurry of coughing sat up to witness the reactions of her daughter below. "Most people in this world hold the same thought as you, Snow. You see the difference between hope and believe is faith; if you hope something is true, there may be circumstances in which you cane be swayed far easier than if you believe that something to be true." There was another fit of coughing, and Snow bounced up like a jack-in-the-box from the brocaded carpet to her mother's bed. "You see, when you believe, it means your heart is invested in whatever you put your faith in. When you hope for it, it merely means you wish for it to come to pass, but you don't have belief that it will. Do you understand this?" Her shaking hand came up to stroke the gentle curls of her daughter's hair, jet-black like the endless night sky; her own hand the moon that parted it._

 _"_ _I think so," she thought in a hushed, solemn tone. "But, I think that's why we need hope just as well as belief."_

 _Her father's eyes crinkled and her mother's brightened. "Do elaborate, dear."_

 _"_ _What if you are thrust into a situation in which you don't believe? Then all there is left for you to do is hope in it...it may be a weak emotion, a frail trust, but if one places hope in something, it is just as powerful as believing in it. Because in order to hope for something, you have to believe in it." Snow fell back onto her heels, mental gears spinning furiously. "Oh! That is what you were intending on teaching me, wasn't it? That was what the boy on the boat meant; he hoped that the storm would pass, and in doing so, believed that it could. It couldn't have changed the outcome of the storm, but he put his faith in something and worked towards it anyhow."_

 _Her mother delicately lifted her hand from Snow's hair to her round, flushed cheek. "Just so, darling. Yet, you are wrong on one part." She bowed her head over the head of hair in her lap and kissed it gently. "We had no intention of teaching you anything. Rather, Snow, you have taught us something."_

 _The young girl raised wide, innocent eyes to her parents' faces. "How could I have taught you something? Father, you and mother know so much."_

 _The hand that firmly grasped the queen's squeezed hers fondly, and the owner let the ghost of a smile haunt his lips. "Ah, in this, we can teach you. As rulers of our country, we have been given the heavy responsibility and burden of running it. With this job, comes the duty to our people; we must solve issues that arise with a just and merciful hand—but it does not mean we always know what is best nor what is right." He shifted his fond expression to the queen, who was sitting quietly amongst her mountain of pillows, her own eyes fixed curiously upon his. "This authority will one day be yours, and in this I tell you, you may not always know what course of action to take, but you must do what your heart tells you."_

 _King Leopold stroked his greying beard, and cocked a bushy eyebrow over a pair of twinkling, blue eyes. "And that is also why, my dear, you can teach us something. Never pass up the opportunity to gain valuable knowledge or wisdom, whether it be from the eldest sage in the land, or a beautiful, youthful princess."_

 _Snow smiled, and looked from her mother to her father, who winked at her in jest. "I suppose then, that I can surely learn a lot more from the world than I thought."_

 _"_ _Oh, yes, darling," the queen agreed, pallor a creamy-white, but eyes bright and wild like that of a tameless animal; one that could never truly be caged. "So much more."_

Snow pressed the yellow dried flower back into the pages of her novel, eyes now glassy and wandering. "Oh, mother," she whispered into her hand, nails digging into her soft palm with ferocity. She didn't notice this, only the way her stomach twisted dreadfully, and how her skin felt as if it had been injected with tongues of flame that raced up her limbs.

The girl stood up, book still clutched in one hand. There was no one in sight to observe her tears, yet if there had, she wouldn't have wanted them there anyway. This was a sort of crying no one could ease or stop up, not even if they had traveled the world to find a potion; it might cease the tears, but it couldn't stop them from pressing against her eyelids or the heart ache that accompanied them.

The hushing sounds from the great trees in the south garden spun their way towards her, the branches singing a lullaby as if trying to soothe her. Even the birds she knew built nests in the trees did not chirp, as if they too were aware their homes meant to comfort the princess—it was a solemn affair, and some things were better saved for sunlight and joyful moments. Snow usually considered herself an unusual sort of optimist. She could always decipher and pick apart a cloud of negativity and find the gleaming silver lining—but in this, there was none to be scavenged for.

Her mother had been sick for two months now, confined to her chambers, and then eventually to her bed. The queen's complexion (always so pale to begin with), was now bone-white, hair plastered to the forehead that was beaded with sweat. None of the doctors knew what it was, no one seemed to have a solution to the ailment. Even when her father had chased the idea of a magical remedy, nothing much was to be found but for the legend of an object that could heal the sick, or with the right ingredients, create a portal of some sort. The tale had been around for millenia, far longer than Snow could even imagine back to, but still it was a spark of hope that fueled a desperate fire. Last month, the king had posted a notice to all the kingdom: a search for the object must begin, and whoever found it would be handsomely rewarded.

Of course, it was met with a large avalanche of skepticism for no one even knew what the object was, but then two nights ago someone had showed up at their gates claiming they had brought the magical item with them. There was a flurry of excitement that swept through the castle, and the man was eagerly ushered in, everyone clambering for a view. But then, later in the night while the king and his advisers pored over the powerful chalice, it was stolen. Before they could even determine how to use it, in a flash of blinding light, the entire goblet had vanished.

Everyone was bewildered and the king himself flew into a rage. It was only until a young woman poked out from the shadows and was spotted, that anyone moved. Accused immediately of treason, Snow had watched as the guards clamped about her arm painfully and carried her to the dungeons as she yelled and shouted profanities. And, she had claimed through all the struggle, something only the young girl thought she had heard: _"I am innocent"_.

Of course, the woman was clearly an impostor, yet somehow the princess couldn't help but wonder if she had been telling the truth; if she had simply been in the wrong place at the wrong time. _I am innocent._

"Let's make this quick, shall we?"

Snow whipped her head around at the sudden voice, frightened at the prospect that she hadn't been alone this entire time...that someone had been watching her. Then, the blade of a dagger met her throat as she turned around, pressing threateningly against her skin, and she knew she had other things to worry about. For one, she had never been attacked by anyone before. What should she do? And then her eyes trailed upwards. The woman in front of her...it was _her_ ; the one from the dungeons!

The blonde lady with a heavy cloak about her shoulders angled her face towards Snow's, head close enough that her ringlets mingled with the inky waves of her own. "I do so hate to do this, you being the princess and all, but if you cooperate there won't be any trouble."

The girl swallowed, and flicked her gaze around the room in search for some sort of weapon she could snatch up. "Tell me why I shouldn't scream," she demanded, boring her gaze into the woman's curiously conflicted eyes.

"Because if you do," the lady tapped the knife teasingly against Snow's collarbone. "This will be promptly embedded into your throat." A grin drew itself up her face with a sure hand. "Now, let's move on shall we? I'm sure you'd love to go check on mother."

The comment stung. "What do you want?" she queried darkly, trying not to appear too frightened.

The woman nodded, approval marking her cold features. "Good. What I want is simple: all I need is that magical chalice your father has." Confusion sprung onto Snow's face, but before she could protest, the lady continued bitingly. "Don't pretend you don't know what I'm talking about. I saw it last night, and then it disappeared as soon as I crept into the room. Where is it?"

"I-I don't know. My father doesn't either, we thought you had stolen it," Snow stammered frantically, still puzzled with this information.

"Liar," the woman seethed, teeth grinding as she lowered the blade towards her.

The young girl watched it, taking shallow, terrified breaths as she scrambled to formulate a response. "I swear, I have no idea where the chalice is. Don't you think my mother would be healed by now if we did?"

Something in her voice must have signaled to the blonde that she was telling the truth, for she dropped the arm that was holding the knife, and stepped back. "Hell, you're telling the truth, aren't you?" She cursed further while Snow rubbed the skin that had been imperiled. "You don't know who took it, either?"

"No," she answered cautiously, gauging the woman's response, along with the hand that swung about in frustration. "Who are you? What are you doing here?"

"That is none of your concern," the lady spat, sheathing her dagger and drawing up the hood of her well-worn cloak. "You will not speak of this to anyone. If you do, I don't care how long it takes, I will ensure that not only your life be jeopardized, but your mother's as well. Do you understand?"

Snow nodded, wanting nothing more than to bound from the room and dart anywhere with other people who she knew wouldn't threaten her life. "Why do you need the chalice?" she dared to venture, curiosity too much for her to withhold.

The woman scowled and moved towards the veranda that lay to her right. "I thought I told you no questions, princess." With that, she quickened her pace until she was sprinting across the floor, and darted into the heat of the summer evening. It swallowed her form swiftly, for when Snow boldly chased her after a moment's hesitation, the woman was already gone.

And with her, the secret of the chalice.


	5. A Change in the Weather

_**Author's Note: Thank you to those who have favorited, followed, and reviewed! I really appreciate your support!**_

 _ **I hope you enjoy, I added Zelena in here as two of you stated you would like to see more of her, so please let me know what you think! There will be more scenes with her, but this one is a short bit of what's to come...**_

 _ **Let me know what you think about this chapter, any criticisms or feedback is highly appreciated. I'd like to know if you guys are enjoying this or not, so thank you again for your support.**_

 _ **Disclaimer: I don't own OUAT, just the story.**_

* * *

Chapter Five: _A Change in the Weather_

 _ **Storybrooke**_

 ** _Present day..._**

It would get back to Zelena. It always did.

She was the town's other resident magical expert, so anything regarding her abilities would be an interest to the witch, even if she hadn't possession of her powers anymore. That and the snow was a dead giveaway that something was amiss in Storybrooke.

Zelena noticed it immediately—the snow that is. She hummed a lullaby to the child cooing in her arms, and rocking her over to the crib, laid Robyn down. "There, darling. Mummy has to check on the weather," she crooned, wrapping the baby in folds of thick blankets tenderly. The child yawned, and waved her tiny fists in the air, clearly uninterested in her mother's endeavors.

Once this task was finished, she strode over to the front door and opened it with a forceful yank. Stepping out into an immediate onslaught of bitterly cold wind, Zelena gazed about the snow covered lawn with vague interest, tucking her arms into the warmth of her side. Things like this seemed to occur quite often in the sleepy little town; _though inappropriately dubbed_ , she mused. After all, it really wasn't as dull as everyone would like to believe. Here they were, with only five months of peace to rest and relax—thrust back into the throes of the fatal battlefield.

Her lips curved into a thin smile. Oh, she'd enjoy this; watching the savior and her little friends battle evil once more. The falling snow thickened, and Zelena poked her head from the covering of the porch, flaming curls embracing the flakes as they dropped. They clung to her hair, her emerald blouse, her eyelashes. Those she blinked away as they blurred her vision, but the snow pleased her nonetheless. The trouble it would cause, that was really what amused her; she had always had a penchant for it, or rather, the misfortune it brought to others.

Zelena crept backwards into the shadow of the porch, biting her lip in an almost giddy excitement. It really had gotten too boring around here, now they could have some real fun. And the snow wasn't it, no. Her piercing icy-blue eyes swung towards the curved outline of her long driveway. Her sister should be here soon; better she put the kettle on now so there would be piping hot tea when she arrived.

The woman turned on her heel and walked back into the house, still grinning at the landscape imprinted in her mind's eye. After she had flung open all the gauzy curtains and wooden blinds, Zelena swung about to the kitchen and placed the kettle to boil. The flame underneath it licked the sides hungrily, but she didn't turn the dial any lower—the greed made sense to her, and today she would share it with the tendrils of fire.

"Oh, sister dear," she murmured melodically, opening the wooden cupboards in search of teacups. "Tell me, what else has sprung up in dear old Storybrooke, hmm?"

* * *

She wasn't going to make him sleep on the couch, but he did anyway.

Emma trudged down the stairs, still in her sleep-deprived glory; rumpled t-shirt and blonde hair in an awful ponytail, all loose and flying about her face. Her red-rimmed eyes flitted about over dark circles—evidence of a sleepless night. She reached the bottom with lethargic movements, and spotted him immediately, his arms crossed over his chest as he slept peacefully, even on the admittedly uncomfortable couch.

She leaned against the stair banister, and folded her own arms against her torso. Emma felt a knot balling in her stomach, and she instinctively bowed over it further, tucking into herself almost protectively. She felt bad, truly she did. All the had meant to do was help. But, she couldn't accept it, could she? She had rewarded his efforts (that were surely hesitant and overthought in regards to her) by running away; last night she had told herself otherwise, justified it by saying it was a 'time-out' from the drama. Yet, in a way, with the morning sun streaming over the horizon, she knew she had run.

 _But, then again_ , she chimed, he really shouldn't have talked to Regina about what happened two nights ago. They should have decided together what to do about it. Emma slowly unfurled herself like a dangling flag and lifted her fingertips to her hair, sliding out the ponytail that caused a cascade of hair to stream down her shoulders. _I should wake him_ , she thought, sliding her interest back to his slumbering form. _It is nine o'clock, now. Later than usual._

Her eyes blinked at his face, then swallowing a lump of something that tasted of guilt, moved them to the window. The sun was in full glare, promising a day of heat; it appeared especially bright this morning as it shone through the glass. She studied the beams of light, cocking her head. It _was_ sort of an odd brightness.

Removing herself from the tilted position at the banister, Emma crossed curiously over to the front of the house. She lifted a hand to part the curtains and poking her nose through the fabric, she saw—

Snow.

 _Snow._ Hurriedly, she stepped backwards, mind reeling from the sight. It was July, wasn't it? There shouldn't be snow. Her gaze flitted from the window to her hands—both lay still against her side, but she still felt sick. Could she be imagining things? The visions playing tricks on her mind wasn't a new occurrence and according to the town's resident psychiatrist, her brain was a bit stressed from all of the past year's events; including her duration as a Dark One and the time spent in fake realms as other versions of herself. She'd never told Killian, but sometimes she would wake up and didn't recognize her surroundings—she had yet to disturb him, but then again, it had only happened twice.

It unnerved her though and being forced to swallow her pride, had taken an hour to reach out to Archie. Emma had never blatantly told him all that occurred, but she questioned him vaguely enough to gain some answers as to why she was seeing things. He hadn't seemed to catch on to anything, oddly enough for the intuitive cricket, but all he had talked about was stress.

"Good morning, love."

The voice startled her. Her first instinct was to prepare a ball of fire in her palm, but her brain was blurry from thinking and her movements slow to respond, fortunately for him. Instead, she whirled around, trying to mask her panic and confusion with a hasty mask. "Good morning." There was grin, a re-shuffling of her position to indicate forgiveness and a cheerful attitude.

He didn't buy it.

Killian sat up slowly, eyeing her warily as one does a caged animal, knowing all too well that she was presenting him with a false mask. "You're rather cordial this morning, considering last night." Emma looked away, back at the window so she didn't have to dissuade his attempt at scrutiny, and he followed her gaze. "What's wrong?"

When she didn't respond, he bolted up and stalked over to the living room window, peering out with an expression of inquiry, and then leaning back with one of disbelief. "Bloody hell, it's snow."

A sigh passed from her lips. "Thank you, Captain Obvious," Emma muttered, sneaking a second, concerned look outside herself. She was still trying to push away the thoughts of earlier, and trying desperately not to let her relief show that he could see the snow, too. No visions, no imagined snow. It was a good day.

Killian furrowed his brow, looking rather insulted for someone who didn't understand modern phrases. "Captain who?"

"It's an expression—look, I need to figure out what's going on. I should go and talk to Regina or my dad; I'm pretty sure this has something to do with what we found yesterday." Emma didn't even bother explaining that last part, and switched directions, beginning to jog up the stairs. "I'll be back later."

"Emma," he protested, striding to the foot of the winding stairs, and looking up at her form. "Maybe I should go with you, love."

She bit back a sharp remark that an Emma of two years past might have spat, and tugged on the first blouse she could find in her bedroom. "It's fine, I won't be gone long." After donning a pair of jeans, she hesitated at the row of drawers, and turned to the closet. It would be cold, she'd need a damn coat in summer.

"I presume you aren't up for talking, then?" came a muffled question, and she slammed the closet door.

Thinking of a favorable retort, Emma slid on her winter boots, slipped a pair of gloves into her pocket, and headed for the stairs. "If you're referring to last night, then no." As his incredulous face appeared in her vision, she sent him a thin-lipped smile as reconciliation, and marched past Killian to the front door. "There's milk in the fridge, but we're running low, so no promises on coffee dosage."

As she turned the knob of the door, greeted with the fresh bite of a snowfall wind, a hand alighted upon hers and she turned to face its owner. His jaw clenched as their eyes met, and she could all but see the struggle inside him to let her go without talking; sentences writing themselves out in his stormy blue eyes. But they faded and all he said was, "Be careful, Emma."

"I will." She withdrew her hand from his, sending a terse wave without even glancing back. The snow underfoot crunched with each step, sparkling like miniature diamonds against the sun's brilliance, and the blonde shook her head at the absolute absurdity of it all.

"Alright, then, let's see why the hell I can't catch a break," Emma mused bitterly, and opened the door of her brightly colored bug.

* * *

 ** _The Enchanted Forest_**

 ** _In the time of King Leopold's reign..._**

"This is an awful idea."

"Shut up."

They gazed up at the towering castle, the gloomy, dark exterior promising nothing less on the inside. The woman lifted up a flat, dull brown braid to her lips, and chewed on the ends thoughtfully. "Suppose we come back another time?"

Her companion with the same colored hair, though cut into an unflattering mop, pinched her arm as she yelped in protest. "Stop doing that, it's a nasty habit. And no more of this nonsense about coming back later, you hear?"

"He's right." The man had slipped in between them so silently and suddenly, both jumped when they realized their shadows had taken the form of a being. "We are here, and our task must be completed."

At this solemn declaration, they fell silent. A flag flapped in the slight zephyr as they stood in stony silence, glaring or observing the fortress. "Suppose we enter, then?" the woman prompted, finally removing her plait from her mouth. It had gotten too quiet for her tastes.

"Smartest thing you've said today," her twin grumbled, and took the lead, striding forward with a sense of confidence the others weren't sure was genuine. He had a tendency to be arrogant, but this time his defiance appeared guarded—and for good reason.

As the trio entered, the ominous silence that surrounded them not only muffled their hearing, but seemed to creep into every inch of their skin. They were almost certain they could feel it curling up inside their stomachs like a infant creature taking root, building a nest where it knew it would difficult to uproot. All of them groped for a sword hilt or the smooth surface of a bow, not liking the feeling at all.

Already uncomfortable as it was, the woman tugged on her braids anxiously after this, eyeing every corner they passed with suspicion. When they crossed the threshold of the library, however, none of them could help but stop and admire the rows of carefully shelved books lining every wall. It was a magnificent room, impressive in every aspect...and that was most likely why they failed to notice the shuffling footsteps and leering eyes.

"Welcome, dearies!" a voice rang, startling them all into a defensive triangle; weapons drawn and ready to eliminate any threat. The owner of the voice didn't bat an eyelash at this however, instead stepping off of his ladder and eyeing them with interest. "I would invite you to make yourselves at home, but it appears you've already done that."

The unappointed leader of the group raised the tip of his sword, leveling it at the smug creature. "I presume you're the Dark One, then?" The duo behind him shifted uneasily as the prospect of dealing with the famed villain finally hit them, but didn't say anything to dissuade their unswayed companion.

"That I am," he bowed with a dramatic flourish, cackling with pleasure and circling them much as a hunter does prey. "Now, how can I help you? A deal, perhaps?" His steps were slow, and he walked with an air of genteel fashion.

"Indeed," the group's guide answered, the grip on his sword unwavering.

The Dark One stopped and eyed them, putting his fingertips together in anticipation. "Well, what can I help you with, dearie?"

The woman stepped up, eagerness bubbling up in her throat enough that it pushed past the trepidation. "We need gold."

The imp's laugh was high-pitched and painfully so, but it still managed to twist the stomachs of men in its presence. "Isn't that just...typical. Why don't you just scurry along and find yourself something?" He appeared no longer interested, running a scaly finger along the spine of a dog-eared tome. "My advice: steal something. From the queen, perhaps?"

A growl erupted from the other twin's throat. "Not just any gold, Dark One. The treasure promised of King Leopold for the finding of a magical chalice."

"Gold's all the same," he retorted, hand twirling up in a flourish. "Why is this one special?"

"It's a great treasure, but that's no concern of yours," the leader grunted, face warning and ready to pounce if necessary. "We are prepared to strike a deal for your aid in procuring it."

The Dark One narrowed his reptilian eyes with a sprinkling of doubt and amusement. "Indeed. Well, you don't have the chalice, do you? How do you plan on taking the king's treasure?"

"With your help," he repeated, clearly losing patience with the man before him.

"Ah, you want me to find this chalice for you—in exchange for what?" the imp's gaze was dangerous, but clearly enthused with the prospect of a deal. He never could resist, and this was what the trio was counting on.

The male twin leaned forward with a sneer. "What do you want?"

A smile curled up onto his features. "Your sister."

"What?" the answer he received was clearly not one he was expecting, and he stumbled back in bafflement. "What do you want of her?"

"That is none of your concern," the Dark One spat back with glee. "I will find this magic chalice for you, and in return, I shall take your dear sister. Do we have a deal?"

The woman concerned felt her skin grow clammy, and she turned to her brother with grasping fingers that plucked at his worn tunic. "Brother, I can help you."

"How? She's of no use, let him take her," their leader snapped, sounding almost bored with the proceedings. He tilted towards the conflicted face of her sibling. "Then together, we can split the gold; fifty-fifty."

"Don't listen to him, Jack," she pleaded, eyes wild with fear as she tugged on his arm hard.

The Dark One cleared his throat, pointing at his grandfather clock in the corner. "Tick-tock, dearie. I don't have all day."

He suddenly stiffened, brushed aside his ratty bangs, and shoved the woman forward. "Take her," the brother drawled gruffly. Whatever had passed through his mind had clearly made his decision, for he had no trace of changing it.

"No, no!" she screeched at his announcement, brown eyes glossy and darting around frantically. "Please, no!"

Over all the shouting, the imp giggled out another cackle as he raised his fingers in the same flourish. "Perfect!"

"When should we expect your side of the bargain to be upheld?" the other man asked, finally lowering his weapon, though still twitching anxious fingers towards its hilt.

The Dark One clasped the arm of the frantic woman, and leered at the two men. "Tomorrow at sunset," he answered grandly, a grin curling his lips.

They nodded and turned to leave, but the sister managed to wrench her arm from her captor's grasp and barreled after them. She was sobbing as she clutched the hand of her brother. "Please, don't leave me here."

No remorse was found in his chilly eyes, and he coldly turned his shoulders, shaking her off as if she was some sort of pest that could be crushed under his foot. As they left, she melted onto the floor in a puddle of clothing, wailing out of fear and anger. "How could you?" she whimpered, salty tears slipping onto her lips with gentle plops.

They reminded her of the taste of the sea, but it gave her only a bit of comfort.

* * *

 ** _Storybrooke_**

 ** _Present day..._**

She parked the bug next to 'Granny's', determined to secure a cup of coffee before seeking out Regina or her dad. As her boots sank into the glitter of white, she stepped out and paused when her ears were met with a whistling silence. No one was about, probably bottled up in their homes, too fearful to step out; wary of what snow in summer meant—she herself felt instinctively inclined to join them. But, she was hard-wired to run towards what made her feel uneasy, not from it.

Emma half-expected the diner to be closed, and though it was lacking the usual business, Granny was still dependably wiping down counters and switching out clean dishes as she walked in. The older woman nodded as Emma leaned against the counter, already heading for the coffee pot. "Usual?"

"Thanks, Granny." She drummed her fingers against the granite, stopping when the sight of her hands reminded her of visions. There hadn't been any, but that didn't mean much. And truthfully, she wasn't even sure it was that much better; every second she was wondering when the next vision would hit and how she would deal with it. So, when she wasn't plagued by them, she was worrying about it constantly, anyway. Wonderful.

"Here you go," Granny interrupted her thoughts, placing the cup in front of her.

Emma slid upwards, grabbing the blissfully hot mug. "Thank you." She made a move to depart, but the other woman tilted towards her anxiously, clearly ready to discuss what had been haunting her all morning.

"Should've known we couldn't last too long without magical curses, and what not." She gestured towards the door, where one could clearly see the snow in all its glory. "Where do you think this one sprung from? My bet is on Zelena, never liked her all that much. And her being so far out, away from everyone?" Emma opened her mouth to respond, but Granny stuck a metaphorical sock in it. "Easy enough to work on a secret curse, eh'? It wouldn't be the first time, either." She huffed, and began wiping the dishes on the counter dry with her towel she had slung over her shoulder.

Emma had intended on responding to this diplomatically, but she was cut off by the front door chiming a cheerful 'welcome' as the bell rang. Footsteps approached, and someone slid up to the counter next to her. "A coffee, please."

Granny pursed her lips in disappointment, but bustled off to fulfill the order. Meanwhile, she turned her head to identify the newcomer, and let a reticent sigh of relief escape immediately. "Regina," Emma exhaled, placing her hand on the woman's arm gratefully. "I was just coming to find you."

"Were you now?" She blinked, looking as if she'd rather be anywhere else at the moment, and found an imaginary strand of hair to focus on.

The blonde's elbow rested on the counter, eyes narrowing. "Yeah, I was." Her behavior was odd, suspicious even. And everyone knew she could smell it from a mile away, so why even bother?

She wouldn't find out yet, for at this moment, Granny returned briskly with Regina's coffee and handed it over. "Thank you," she smiled pleasantly, then stood up and curtly nodded at Emma, who stood there a bit perplexed at the whole exchange. _What the hell was that?_

As the door jingled shut, the older woman behind the counter tapped a finger to grab her attention. "Better shut your mouth, dear. Don't want to catch flies."

Emma promptly slammed it shut, grabbed her cup of coffee, and sprinted after Regina swiftly. The door closed behind her with a slam while she glanced left and right. Finally spotting her walking briskly away, she tucked her hands into her sides against the cold, and set off to catch up.

When she did, the blonde woman grabbed the others' arm and tugged her aside. "I think you and I have a lot to talk about," Emma blurted, her tone matching the heat of the gale that snapped at their loose curls and flaps of fabric.

They exchanged glances. "I can't say I agree, but I suppose you were bound to find me," Regina answered detachedly, side-stepping the other woman. Her gloved hands wrapped greedily about the warmth of her mug, and her strides were lengthened with each step in the snow; it only got colder the closer they got to nightfall of course.

"What's with you?" Emma inquired, taking a sip of the heated drink and enjoying as it warmed her numb fingers and shivering torso. "Are you avoiding me?"

Regina lifted her chin, tightening her grip around the mug. "Of course I'm not, don't be ridiculous."

"No, I think you've got that part handled," she scoffed, glancing up at the oddly bare trees for patience. They didn't say anything, only shook thin fingers at her form below.

Her companion sighed heavily. "Alright, Swan. I know you're not going to leave until we have a little chat, so what's on your mind?"

"I know you're trying to figure out this whole potion mess," Emma began carefully, seeing Regina's shoulders stiffen immediately. "And I wanted to know how your research was going—if you think the vial has anything to do with this ridiculous snowfall." Her hands flew up to gesture around her incredulously.

The other woman took her time to respond, measuring how much she wanted to disclose, or rather, how much she _should_. If Emma was concerned about the magic affecting her, as Killian was, then she didn't have an answer for her. Which made her just as uncomfortable, knowing hers could be jeopardized as well. That meant not only problems for her, but for the town—there weren't too many magic-wielders who could protect them. "Well, Emma, I've talked to a few sources in town but I've yet to discover how much power this object has." She took a long sip of coffee. "If it has anything to do with the snowfall, I would be concerned, however I don't know that either."

"Do you know where it came from?" she tried instead, attempting to ignore the now vacant dash of hope she had felt before their conversation.

Regina twisted her lips and clicked her heels faster—Emma raised an eyebrow; it was _snow_ , after all. "Not yet. I've already told your father that I would let everyone know when I learn anything, so there's really no need to come tramping after me for answers." _Leave it be, Emma,_ she advised. _The less you are involved in this, including your family, the safer—and easier for me._

Needless to say, the recipient didn't listen. "Fine," she said, ignored the biting tone to save irritation for another day. "You may not know anything about the potion yet, but that's not the only reason I came to find you."

Regina shot her an unreadable look, then returned her gaze to the horizon. "I don't know if any of this will affect your magic, sorry."

Emma shook her head, steeling herself for the conversation she'd very, _very_ much not like to have. "I know Killian talked to you yesterday."

She was silent. Her feet sank into the snow with a crunch, then popped free with a crack.

"I didn't know he was going to do that, and if I did, I would have made sure to stop him," the other woman continued, watching the wisps of conversation float out into the air like tangible sentences. "I just want to make sure you're not going to tell my parents—or Henry—about it." They curled into the air in the shape of hooks and clouds, each word a droplet of mist.

Regina could feel the eyes pressing into her back after a long pause. "Your business is your own, Emma. I'm not going to tell them; that's something you have to do yourself."

She watched the ground move under her feet, sparkling with their fast paced movements. "Thank you, Regina. There's probably nothing to worry about, and I don't want them to be concerned—they just got their happy ending. I don't want to ruin it."

Her companion stopped so abruptly that Emma nearly ran into her back, eyes narrowed in confusion as she turned to face her. "I think they'd argue that you've just gotten your own, Miss Swan." There was sympathy that shone through her nonchalant features, and it made Emma feel oh-so tired and worn in a way she couldn't explain; as if the gaze itself held weighted bricks.

"Jones."

Regina furrowed her brow. "I'm sorry?"

"It's Emma Jones," she cracked a thin-lipped smile. "You keep calling me Swan."

"I'll admit, it's a hard habit to break." A smile was returned, though far more forced than hers. "Look, I won't get involved in your personal life, that's not my business, but don't allow these visions to push your family away—to erase the progress you've made with them."

Emma glanced at her sharply, feeling a little as if salt had been rubbed in a healing wound. "I won't."

She backtracked quickly. "I'm sorry, maybe that came off as insulting." Regina pursed her lips, swallowing another mouthful of things she'd like to tell her friend...perhaps another day. "My point is, your family is still tougher than you think. Haven't you always gotten out of every single thing you've been thrown into? I know you have let your guard down and allowed yourself to trust them, but don't let your fear cause you to be selfish."

Her face darkened, and the ball of magic inside of her writhed and sparked in anger. "I trust them with my life. I know they're tough, but not everything needs to be shared—and I'm not afraid, neither am I selfish; not with them."

She hesitated, but the words she spoke next were firm."You are if you're hiding something," Regina refuted quietly, taking note of the swiftly approaching billow of soft, grey clouds. It rolled over the horizon, casting the town into shadow as it held the pregnant promise of more snow.

A calculated breath was took. "I will let you know if anything comes up, Jones."

The last part was meant as a consolation, an apology for the harsh truth she had delivered; but she could tell Emma didn't take it that way. So, she left, and as she did, the blonde woman ground her teeth, coffee mug slowly deflating in her tightening fist.

"I'm not selfish," she insisted, eyes boring into the retreating form of her friend as white magic sparked in her vision. The piercing glare was broken only when a boiling splash of coffee spilled onto her hand, and she released her grip on the mug. _No use in wasting perfectly good coffee,_ she supposed.


	6. Accidental Misfortune

_**Author's Note: Thank you to all of my readers, those who have followed, favorited, and reviewed! It is so appreciated!**_

 _ **I hope you enjoy the last installment of "episode two". Sorry it has taken so long to be put up; my computer hasn't been working and life has been crazy busy! Leave a review if you'd like, I'd be happy for feedback! :)**_

 _ **Disclaimer: I don't own OUAT, just the story!**_

* * *

Chapter Six: _Accidental Misfortune_

 ** _The Enchanted Forest_**

 ** _In the early years of King Leopold's reign..._**

She plucked a sprig of sweet-smelling lavender and tucked it into the pocket of her apron, humming an old lullaby her mother used to sing to her when she was young. Her feet skipped across the lush grass, and the creek gurgled pleasantly as they walked; melodic sounds that provided accompaniment to her music.

"Do you see a bluebell?" Goldilocks asked, brushing her hand across the tall grasses that bent and bowed against the summer breeze. They tickled her palm, and she breathed a low laugh.

Gable tossed a shiny pebble in his hand up in the air, and caught it with a look of amusement. "You don't truly want bluebells in your hair, do you? Daisies make far more sense, Goldie'."

"I already have those," she twitted, patting the flowers entwined into her golden locks. "Yet, it's rather dull to have only daisies, don't you think? I'd love to have an iris, or even a rose."

"Those would get caught in your hair, goose." The boy swung his arm back, threw the rock towards the stream, and held his breath as it managed three skips before sinking. He hadn't expected it to go far, it was a rather small expanse of water after all.

She considered this, removing a violet from the cluster at her feet and adding it to the collection atop her head carefully, nose scrunched in concentration. "I would cut off the thorns, of course."

"You'd need a knife, which we don't have."

Goldilocks shot him a glare, pushing the bothersome sun-colored hair off her shoulders. "I could wait until we got home, you absolute idiot."

"Says the maid who sticks plants in her braid," he retorted, mischievous grin darting onto his face before he could consider leaving it off.

Her fist met his shoulder faster than he could avoid, and the boy stumbled back with a sheepish smile and twinkling squint. "They aren't plants, they are the pieces to my crown," she corrected primly, ignoring a flower that slid from the disturbed tresses and spun to the spongy earth.

"Alright then, princess," Gable mocked, tucking in his shoulders and clasping his hands behind his back. "Shall we depart to thy glittering castle? Or would thee rather dally among the flowers, plucking petals from nature's welcoming grasp?" He extended his hand in a gentlemanly manner, as if the palm was covered in white satin, and not streaks of dirt and mud.

Goldilocks took it, chin and nose lifted high into the air. "Oh, knight, how thee jests! If I were to pluck the very fingers from earth's form, wouldn't it be a celebrated event, rather than a mockery?"

"Only to the fair maiden," he decided, and taking her arm, marched them down the creek's edge; pompous and haughty in a way only those pretending can be.

They walked like this for a minute or so, before the boy's legs grew stiff from elegance, and he bounded from his companion's grasp to find a toad or another pebble. She followed him soon after, grace forgotten, as well as the crown that sprinkled the earth with the flowers that already belonged to it. There were other wonders to be behold along the water's edge.

In this way they made it home, flushed cheeks and eyes glowing as they burst into the house, mood a bright sunbeam that couldn't be shadowed with ease. Goldilocks bounced from the entrance to the other side of the room in one leap, clutching at her mother's waist in excitement. "Oh, mama! You simply won't believe what Gable and I have done today."

She withdrew the skinny arms from her torso, and kneaded the bread with an intensity that came from a cross expression. "Not now, there are chores to be done. You can tell me your tale when the water has been fetched and the chickens fed...shoo! The boy can help."

The girl furrowed her brow. She'd want to hear the story once it had begun. "But—"

"Outside, Goldilocks. Now."

Dutifully, she trudged back to the door, picked up the wooden bucket in one hand, and slipped back out silently. It was a far cry from the entrance they had made, and Gable noted its difference, following his friend as if she led the head of a solemn procession. She guided them up to the well, her knuckles white as she drew nearer.

"We can tell her later, can't we?" he tried, ignoring the seething look she sent him.

Goldilocks began her chore silently, but the fire in her eyes flashed with a terrible spark, saying enough for a thousand sentences. "I'll tell her _now._ She'd be proud if she knew what we did."

He looked down at his fingers, uninterested in the circles of dirt around the nails. Would her mother be proud? Gable stole a glance at his friend. He knew if his parents heard they had snuck into the guard tower and turned three men into bears—it wouldn't be understatement to assume they would never look at him the same way, which would be the best outcome.

Gable knew her mother, tough, proud...and hurting. If she learned what her daughter had done, especially for the reason she had done so, he'd hate to have to pick up the pieces of their relationship. It was tenuous enough, and the realization that Goldilocks had dared to take her revenge to another level would break it like a precious china cup. And those, he knew, couldn't be repaired.

Gable shook auburn curls out of his eyes, and pressed his thin lips together. "Do you think, maybe we should..." he trailed off, immediately regretting the decision to even speak.

"Should what?" the girl drew the bucket up over the side of the well, and practically threw it to the ground.

He could tell her warning tone was suspicious and so he continued cautiously, dragging his toe along the grass so that his fingers wouldn't fidget. "Would it not be better to keep this to ourselves?"

"What?" Her fingers curled about the bucket's handle drooped in unison with her slacking jaw. But it was less shock than it was betrayal, and Gable moved to remedy it; he couldn't have her thinking that he would do that.

"Listen, Gold'. Your mother and mine, well, they wouldn't see what we did today as a glorious triumph." He tilted towards her sympathetically. "They would only see two children who did something evil and stupid. I don't think they would understand."

She took a step backwards, kicking the full bucket of water at him so that everything below his knees were wet and dripping. "You coward!" she seethed, stomping her foot in anger. "You just don't want to get in trouble."

"That's not it," he snapped, losing his temper quickly at her utterance. He was no coward. "I don't want you to get in a fight with your mother."

Goldilocks turned from him, red-rimmed eyes hidden beneath a shadow of hair. "I argue with mama constantly, don't be a fool."

"Fine, you do what you want." His feet may have been drenched, but the fire that roared inside blazed higher, dry and fueled to match her own. "But, I won't help you if can't be smart," Gable scowled and spun on his heel, stalking down the hill with a proud march.

"I am smart," she yelled, face red and wild. "But, unlike you, I'm proud of what I did today."

He shook his head, calling over his shoulder in a condescending manner. "No, you're greedy for recognition. Be satisfied that you've avenged your father's death, let your mother live in ignorance."

"It's not enough!" Goldilocks howled into the wind, expecting an answer, but she was only met by the whistling sighs from the east.

* * *

 ** _Storybrooke_**

 ** _Present day..._**

 _"_ _You guys okay?"_

She heard a breath—of what she couldn't tell. Perhaps weariness or concern? _"We're fine, Emma. Just a little stuck at the moment, but the snow should clear soon enough...you'll see."_

 _"_ _You're probably right,"_ she agreed half-heartedly, switching the cell phone from her right hand to her left. Glancing out the window at the swiftly falling snow, still steady as it had been since this morning, Emma leaned against the counter heavily. _"How's Dad? Did he get stuck at the station?"_

 _"_ _Unfortunately, yes. I just got a call from David about an hour ago; the roads are too icy to drive on, and in some areas like here, the snow is too deep."_ There was a shuffling noise from the other side of the phone, and a couple of loud bangs.

Emma felt a smile slip onto her face involuntarily. _"Are you trying to kill something, Mom?"_

 _"_ _Cooking,"_ Mary Margaret explained, breathing strained as she bent down to grab something. _"Might as well have something nice and hot while the weather is like this."_

 _"_ _Sounds nice,"_ she hummed, pushing away from the counter and letting her fingers fiddle with the edge of the curtains, eyes drawn to the snowy landscape.

There was another slam, then a chair screech. _"What about you? You and Killian alright?"_

 _"_ _We're fine."_ Emma didn't mean for it to come out so sharp and hurried, and she scurried to cover the tracks like she could brush it over with snow. _"Just a bit worried, of course. Everyone's trying to figure out where this came from, and if it has anything to do with the potion dad found yesterday."_

 _"_ _Oh, yes,"_ she murmured, now silent on her end. _"I heard about that. Do you have any idea what it is? Does Regina?"_

Emma tucked her arms into her side, folding them in the way she did when cold. _"I talked to her this morning, and she didn't seem to know about that. She said she'd let us know if she found anything out about it, though."_ The blonde watched a drop of water slide from the faucet and plop into the sink with a metallic _plunk_. What was with their house and leaky taps? _"Regina did mention that it could affect our magic, though."_

 _"_ _Magic? As in yours and Regina's?"_ Her tone sounded concerned, and for the second time that day, Emma wondered if Storybrooke relied too heavily on magic. That is, when there weren't monsters or villains set on destroying them to justify it. _"What about—"_ she hesitated.

 _"_ _About what?"_

Her mother clicked her tongue, gathering her thoughts and concerns before continuing to speak. _"Do you think she meant all of the magic in Storybrooke as well? Meaning, for instance, that magical objects would no longer be, well, magical?"_

 _"_ _I don't know,"_ Emma admitted, realizing that she was actually cold, and wondering why she hadn't thought to turn up the thermostat when she had gotten home. _"But, if I had to guess, I would assume so. If our magic goes, doesn't that mean everyone and everything loses it, too?"_

 _"_ _Maybe. But, I still don't know how a bottle of some potion could suck away our magic."_

She brought her icy fingertips to her bleary eyes, successfully jolting herself awake with the cold skin. _"I don't either."_

It was quiet on both ends now, both women entangled in their own contemplation; Emma felt rather suffocated in her own twisting of rope. Luckily, it unraveled when her mother swallowed and coughed awkwardly. _"It will be fine, Emma. I wouldn't worry."_

 _"_ _Thanks, Mom. I'll talk to you soon, okay? Let me know if Dad gets home safely."_

 _"_ _I will."_

Emma hung up, closing her eyes and running a hand over her face. Two days ago she had told her mother she was rather tired of the monotony, confused by it even, of a normal life. And now she wished she could have it back. Whatever that was, before the snow and visions, where Killian and her family were all that needed her attention.

Her numb hands that were tucked into her pockets withdrew from the warmth, lifting themselves in front of her eyes involuntarily. She creased her brow, and observed them warily. Then, the right one began to shake.

Emma clutched it immediately, digging into her wrist so hard she was sure it would leave bruises. It kept up the tremors despite her attempts, and she stumbled back against the counter as a flash of screeching metal flew into her vision.

 _This time, the darkness was dotted with stars instead of thunderclouds, and by this light she could see the scene play out clearer. The man collapsed beside her and she saw the blood creep from between his fingers out the corner of her eye, just as crimson as before. Her attackers loomed above him, and thrust the sword in once more—for insurance._

 _Then they turned towards her._

 _Emma watched as one of them retrieved an object from the man's fallen body and the other turned his sword upon her, blade edging closer and closer—a crack of lighting lit up the sky, and the sky shook as if the stars were rattling about in a midnight prison. They shot about the clouds in fiery rockets, the blade shattered into a thousand fragments of metal, and everything faded into a whirl of black._

She found herself crouched upon the kitchen tiles, hair falling in tangled strands about her face and fists clenched tightly. That had felt so incredibly real, more so than the last. Emma forced herself to stand, but it was a shaky ascent, and when she straightened she grabbed the edge of the table forcefully. By the time her heart rate decreased, she had decided she wasn't going to tell Killian. Not yet, anyway. _I'm not hiding,_ Emma reminded herself, lifting her gaze to the drifts of snow that kept climbing higher before her window. _There are some things I need to figure out before I have everyone's opinions clambering for attention above my own._

The phone ringing made her jump, and she lunged for it with a growl; frustrated with how ridiculously skittish her behavior was. Her fingers tapped the 'accept' button, but her mind was still fixated on the thunderclouds and stars. _"Hello?"_

 _"_ _Emma?"_

She brought the phone closer to her ear, automatically on the alert. _"Is something wrong? Did you—"_

 _"_ _It's Henry,"_ Regina cut in sharply, sounding as if she was tugging on clothing hurriedly, and Emma's heart dropped into her stomach. _"There was an avalanche on the south side of the woods, and he was in the area. He's not answering his phone."_

She was already sliding into her boots, forgoing the gloves and heavier snow jacket; she would be cold but there wasn't time to run upstairs. Or leave Killian a note. _"I'm on my way,"_ Emma answered, slamming the front door behind her as she plowed through the snow in her front driveway. _"How long ago did it happen, Regina?"_ Damn kid, what was he doing outside by himself right now? She slid into her bug, and let it heat up with a growling purr, trying to qualm the rising sense of panic. How the hell was there an avalanche? There weren't any mountains near the area.

 _"_ _I don't know. Leroy was over here about ten minutes ago to complain; the dwarves were almost caught in the slide this morning, and when he told me that the avalanche was on the south side..."_

Emma pulled out into the street with a loud crunch, hoping her car would be able to make it all the way into the woods without running into any obstacles. Damn snow. _"I'll be there soon."_

She hung up and flung the phone onto the passenger seat, gripping the steering wheel so hard she almost couldn't steer. Forcing her paralyzed limbs to move, Emma swung left and prayed that the snow and deepening twilight wouldn't keep her from Henry.

A normal life. What was that?

* * *

 ** _The Enchanted Forest_**

 ** _In the time of King Leopold's reign..._**

Someone had stolen her chance, and they were going to pay.

Goldilocks hunched behind a barrel of ale, poking her head out every so often to see if the road was clear. Originally, she had planned to snatch the loaf of bread and continue on her way, but then the old man's vegetable cart had overturned which had caused a flurry of unwanted attention in the area. The bread she had found was baking in the sun, turning stale she was sure, so she'd plucked it from the ground to save for later—then guards had flocked to complain about the bouncing vegetables in the road. Goldilocks would have to wait for them to leave.

Looking down, she noticed a carrot and a tomato by her foot, so she snuck them into her satchel as well. She could use it for the journey ahead.

"To the left, you blundering fool!"

She lifted her eyes over the rim of the barrel curiously, watching the red-faced baker lift the edge of the cart while the lean apothecary knelt beside him. They nearly managed it, but the pasty doctor was hit with a coughing fit, and let the wheel roll back into the rut.

The baker turned on him, pounding a hand onto the man's shoulder. "Now you've gone and done it. Good luck to you, now." In response, the apothecary hunched over and shook with the force of a deep cough.

"Ah, leave im' be," came the sudden voice of a kindly blond butcher, who nudged the angry man. "The poor man meant no 'arm. Let's push the cart together, eh'?"

And so with the combined might of the three men, they managed to set the teetering cart to right, the grateful doctor nodding his funny little head in excitement. He hopped back onto the seat of the rickety wagon, handing a bundle of corn to each man in thanks.

The butcher rested an elbow on the rim of the cart, considering the scene before him with clear amusement. "Thank ye' kindly, good doctor. But, what's a man like ye' doing carting 'round vegetables? Doesn't seem too involved in the medicine business." His eyes twinkled.

"Well, this is not mine, good gentleman!" The doctor smiled eagerly, pleased at the positive response from the butcher. So much so, in fact, that a head of crispy lettuce was passed over in the midst of his chattering. "My son owns this fine wagon, but he is gone on a ship; visiting his sister on the far side of Misthaven. Claims it's faster than a horse, but I mightily disagree...ah, well, so is the way of things!" He shook his head, eye glasses slipping down the bridge of his nose. "As for me, I must be on my way—more vegetables to unload and deliver."

The butcher suddenly thrust his hand into a basket of green peppers, rooting around for something before removing his fingers triumphantly. He held aloft a candlestick, big toothy grin laughing and curious. "And candles, it seems. What do ye' mean by carrying 'round wax in the vegetables?"

"I'm a candlestick maker," the doctor explained sheepishly, taking the object from the butcher's hands and examining it for any damage. "Along with dabbling in medicine, I have found candle making quite the relaxing endeavor after my daily doctoral duties are finished."

The baker, who had been silently watching the exchange, stepped forward and mopped his brow with a dirty sleeve. "You're an odd fellow, aren't you?"

"I suppose," he laughed, re-adjusting the horse's reins in his clammy hands.

His beady eyes narrowed. "Seems suspicious."

The butcher cleared his throat and clapped a hand on the baker's shoulder, sending him a cheerful, but warning, smile. "Now, now, he's just a man traveling with candlesticks and vegetables. No need to be hostile, 'eh?"

"Yes, indeed. No reason to worry, in fact, I'll have you know I'm heading up to Ravenfair by Lake Slymond for a delivery. If you have cause for concern, send word to the town and ask about the vegetable cart, yes?"

Goldilocks didn't hear the rest of the exchange, the name 'Lake Slymond' singing in her brain repeatedly. That lake bordered Dimstall, the town she needed to get to; there were answers to her search for the magical chalice. She cocked her head at the apothecary and seemed to make up her mind about something.

For, guards forgotten, the woman secured her satchel and sprang from her hiding spot. Bounding from barrel to haystack to stall, she made her way to the cart and slid alongside it, ducking behind a wide tree trunk in wait.

"No need," the butcher was saying merrily, stepping aside for the wagon to begin its journey. "Good luck, candlestick maker."

The doctor bowed his head in thanks, and flicked the reins against the horse's back. Cart wheels began creaking against the dirt road, and Goldilocks ran alongside it—hidden by the shadow of the forest's edge. It wasn't long before the wagon rumbled out of sight, and once she felt confident that she wouldn't be caught, her feet bounced from the trees and onto the cart deftly.

Her movements were luckily muffled by the horse's hooves and the groaning wood, so Goldilocks was able to burrow behind a barrel of onions and a sack of beans without notice. She bit her lip and tightened a fist around her dagger all the same, but when the doctor began whistling an off-key melody, she knew she was safe.

"To Lake Slymond," she murmured, a grin spreading across her face. "And then to freedom."


End file.
